


The Living Dead

by JuneSmith



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris
Genre: Alt Dead to the World, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Human AU (kinda), Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 18:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 97,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12513504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuneSmith/pseuds/JuneSmith
Summary: Eric's cursed - with a twist. An alternate version of Dead to the World.





	1. The Switch

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an alternate version of Dead to the World, taking off after Sookie leaves Merlotte's New Year's celebration... just about the time when she would have picked up a certain someone. Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris. Thanks for reading.

The new year was only three hours old, but most revelers had already stumbled home, leaving the roads empty between Merlotte's and my house.

I rolled down my window. The wind on my face felt almost as nice as the silence in my head. After a night of blocking out giddy, drunk, New Year's Eve thoughts, I felt exhausted, almost as if I'd worked a double shift.

I hit the gas as I passed Bill Compton's house. Bill was my ex. He was also in Peru, which was just as well because we were over with a capital O. I had cried myself dry over him and that was the end of it. Or, at least, I wished it were the end. I wanted to flip a switch and turn off my unwanted feelings.

Bill had been my first. My only, really. I still rolled over in bed some nights, expecting to find him beside me. It happened less and less, which should have made me feel good.

My heart hadn't caught up to my head where the two of us were concerned.

I missed the quiet almost as much as the intimacy. Bill was an attractive man, made even more so because I couldn't hear his thoughts. It had felt like a god-given gift when I'd realized that I didn't have to work to block him out. With him, I could relax. He'd made me feel safe.

Until he didn't.

As I turned into my driveway, my New Year's resolution echoed in my ears:

Stay out of trouble.

An upside of cutting Bill out of my life was that I'd see fewer vampires. Some bloodsuckers were okay, but most were terrifying, and none would think twice about sacrificing me to their twisty plans. It had been nice talking to Bill without hearing his reply in my head, but giving that up was a small price to pay to avoid a beating. I'd spent 25 years alone in a sea of thoughts; I could slog through the next 50. If I stuck around Bill and his friends, I'd be lucky to make it 5 months.

I liked my limbs and health, thank you very much. I planned to keep them.

So that was my resolution. No trouble. No vampires.

Happy New Year.

As my car purred across my new driveway, I noticed a white figure hunched on my front porch. Anywhere else it might have been a lost reveler, but my house was out of town on parish roads. Nobody showed up by accident.

A late night visitor could only mean one thing.

Trouble.

I put my car in reverse. I didn't need to think twice. I'd come back after sunup, when I could be sure that whomever was waiting wouldn't drain me dry.

As I stepped on the gas, I saw the hole in my escape plan. My best friend Tara was at her boyfriend's, my brother Jason never spent ordinary nights by himself, let alone New Year's, and I'd returned Bill's keys weeks ago. Even if I could have gotten inside Bill's house, the thought of spending New Year's alone at my ex-boyfriend's was too terrible to contemplate.

I had nowhere to go.

I stopped the car.

I was tired. I'd been on my feet all night. All I wanted was a hot shower and sleep.

As I sat—sort of weighing my options, but mostly feeling sorry for myself—the figure lifted its head. I had been spotted.

Well, now I couldn't hide.

It was probably a blessing. If my guest was desperate enough to wait on my porch at three am, he or she likely wouldn't leave even if I drove away. And if my visitor had wanted to attack me, chances were that I would already be dead. How's that for a silver lining?

Just in case, I grabbed my cell and thumbed down to Sam's number. A month ago, Bill would have been my 9-1-1 of choice, but I didn't know if he got phone service in Peru. Plus, I didn't want to talk to him.

I kept my thumb on the call button as I got out of the car. I hoped Sam was still up. I hated to wake him, but I had no interest in being attacked without alerting backup.

"Hello?" I called as I started towards the porch. My visitor didn't respond, go figure. My heart was racing so fast, I could feel it. I eyed the bushes in front of my house for rustling or movement—signs of anything that might pounce. They were still. For some reason, it made me worry more.

When I was about ten feet away from the porch, the figure stood up.

It was Eric.

I was so relieved, I let out a mother of a sigh. "Thank god." He didn't say anything. "Why didn't you call? You scared the life out of me."

He stared at me. The silence stretched until he said, "Sorry," as if remembering how to speak. His voice sounded hoarse—off somehow. I couldn't put my finger on why.

"What are you doing here?" I was willing to bet tonight's tips Eric hadn't dropped by to wish me Happy New Year.

He looked upset. I don't know how else to put it. His brow was creased and he seemed a few sizes smaller, almost as if he'd drawn in on himself. "Sookie—" he began, then stopped.

I crossed my arms. It was one thing to show up at my house uninvited. It was another to do it at three am after I'd been on my feet all night. "Get to the point."

He swallowed. "Can I have a drink?"

It had been a while since I'd had any vampire visitors and I was almost certain I was out of True Blood. It was too expensive to buy on a regular basis. When I'd been dating Bill and entertaining vampires from time to time, I'd stocked it. My choice had been between offering vampires bottled blood or giving them a taste of yummy old me, which hadn't been a choice at all. Needless to say, I hoped I had leftover True Blood on hand. I had zero interest in fending off attempts by Eric to sample some on-tap Sookie.

I had to pass Eric to reach the front door. As I brushed by him, I fought the urge to turn up my coat collar. It would be rude, but I also knew how loud my heart had been thudding. If I'd heard it, Eric definitely had. I felt his eyes on me as I fumbled for my keys. It made me shiver and not in a good way.

I didn't think Eric would attack. We were almost friends. But, that being said, I didn't know how much an almost friendship would count if he were starving or otherwise in a pinch.

I wasn't interested in finding out.

I snuck a glance at him. He seemed even paler than usual. He caught me staring and glared, a sign of life that reminded me of the Eric I knew.

I didn't want to deal with vampire trouble right now (or ever), but something was obviously up. Eric could be a headache, but he wouldn't bother me without a good reason—well, a good reason from his perspective. Which didn't always align with mine.

What if he were in real trouble?

Then I needed to get as far away from him as possible. The last time I'd been roped into Eric's business, I'd almost gotten killed. Same story the time before that. It was only three hours into the New Year—far too early to break my resolution.

I hesitated, hand on the doorknob.

For some reason, I thought of Gran. What would she think of me having a vampire on my front stoop? A vampire who probably needed help.

What kind of Christian would I be if I turned him away?

"I might have True Blood in the fridge." I said, as I unlocked the door, already regretting my decision. When Eric didn't move, I remembered that I'd rescinded his invitation the last time he had visited. "Come—"

'Inside' died on my tongue as he pushed past me, into my home.

"Eric?" He kept walking. "Eric." He disappeared around a corner.

I tailed him into the kitchen. He had opened a cabinet and was studying my glassware. "What are you doing?"

He ignored me, took down a glass and turned on the faucet. He filled the glass. Put it on the counter. Stared at it. I was sure he had lost his mind.

"Eric?"

The sound of my voice knocked him out of whatever weird dream state he'd sunk into. He glanced over his shoulder. "You want anything?"

"No." I stared at his glass. The top line of water quivered. I felt as if I were teetering on the verge of something big.

I yanked the fridge open and stuck my head inside so I wouldn't have to stare at Eric's back. "I'm out of True Blood. It's New Year's so the liquor store might be open. If you want to check, you can take my—"

I never got to say 'car' because when I closed the fridge, Eric was lowering the empty water glass from his lips. He gave me a look—like I was doing something wrong by staring—and then stuck his glass under the faucet again. Which conveniently meant he could turn his back on me.

"What's going on?" I almost didn't want to know.

This time I watched as Eric drained the glass. He put in on the counter, wiped his mouth and looked at me. Finally. "I think I need a place to stay."

"How long?" I asked, as any sensible person would. I tried to keep my voice even. Something wasn't right, but I had to play this carefully. Eric and I might be sort of friends, but he was a vampire first. He could tear me limb from limb if I rubbed him wrong.

"Indefinitely," he said, something no sensible person likes to hear.

"No," was so instinctive, it slipped out before I could think.

Eric sighed.

That's when I realized he was breathing.


	2. Wake Up Call

As soon as I realized what was wrong with Eric, I was inside his head.

He was trying to decide whether or not to kill me.

I fought to stay calm. Eric might not be his usual self, but he was still a big man. If he attacked, I'd come out of it badly. If I came out of it at all.

In a fight, I had one advantage.

I knew my kitchen.

I backed away from Eric and fumbled for the handle of my silverware drawer. I didn't want to bring a knife into the room in case he took it from me and used it himself, but I was even less enthused about the prospect of facing him unarmed.

Eric's thoughts were hitting me so loud and fast, I couldn't believe I hadn't heard him before. He was angry that he was at my house. He didn't know how he'd gotten here—which confused me, but he jumped to the next thought before I could straighten it out.

Eric broke it down for himself. Most of the time I was an asset, but today, I was a liability. News of what had happened to him couldn't reach other vampires. He had to scare me silent, and he should, very probably, make me silent.

I caught a flash of red in Eric's head—blood on sheets. It was majorly gross. I tried to keep a poker face, but I wasn't nearly as good at it as he was. The sheets were on a bed; a really unlucky woman lay on top of the covers. With a chill, I realized that she was me.

Jackson. After I'd been staked.

Eric thought about kissing me and I tried not to squirm at the weird refraction of my own memories. There wasn't nearly as much blood the way I remembered it.

It didn't feel the least bit sexy this time around.

Eric disagreed. He glanced my breasts. Hoped he only needed to frighten me. If he had to take it further, he would wait until I went to sleep. No struggle. Easy. He thought about where he might hide a body. Wondered if I had power tools.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to call the police. I wanted to rescind his invitation, even though I was willing to bet that rule had stopped applying to him the moment his pulse restarted.

This was hell.

Eric was loud. A broadcaster.

He was also staring right at me.

When I saw the look on his face, I knew he knew I'd been reading his mind. Plus, I heard it in his head.

Why did these things always happen to me?

"I rescind your invitation," I tried, for old times' sake.

"Sorry, Sookie." Even his fake apology sounded like a threat.

So the ever-useful invite rule was void. I'd called it, but I didn't feel proud of my powers of deduction. I would have rather been wrong.

"What's in the drawer?" Eric said. I didn't understand what he was talking about until I looked down and realized that I was gripping the handle of the silverware drawer, white-knuckled.

"Cutlery," I dodged. I'd be a fool to tell Eric I was looking for a knife.

He filled in the blank. "Sharp cutlery?" His tone was so mild, he might as well have been asking about the weather, but I caught his meaning anyway. Don't even think about it.

This was the problem when you hung around vampires. I wouldn't say that Eric and I were friends, but we were at least friendly acquaintances, and here he was, threatening me as quickly as someone else might have said hello. He was even prepared to kill me so that I didn't blab his secret to other vamps.

Then, it hit me. I had a bargaining chip.

Eric wanted to keep his condition secret. He was willing to kill me to do it. But if he got rid of me and hid himself, he wouldn't just be avoiding other vampires, he'd be cutting himself off from the world. Eric wouldn't be able to go to the Grabbit Kwik, let alone do whatever he had to do to fix his situation.

If Eric wanted to go into hiding, he needed an errand boy. Or girl, as the case may be.

I didn't want the job. But I did want to stay alive.

Allowing myself to get sucked into Eric's business would be profoundly stupid. But since he was already in my kitchen, I didn't think I had a choice. Well, technically, I had a choice, but it wasn't a real one— I could help out my not-so-friendly neighborhood vamp or start pushing daisies.

Plus, Eric needed me. He didn't know many humans. Without glamour, he could rely on even fewer.

I took a deep breath and stepped off the edge. "If you kill me, I can't help you."

Eric just stared at me.

"Say you do murder me and hole up in my home," I said, because that's what he'd been thinking behind the poker face, "how are you going to get food? Conduct business? You go outside, someone will see you. You can bet it will get back to a vampire."

I didn't know if it was wise to let Eric know that I'd been inside his head, but I didn't have the energy to be coy. I wasn't telling him anything he didn't already suspect.

Kind of knowing and having it confirmed are two very separate things. Eric was so angry, he was having trouble finding the words he wanted. He was thinking about me reading his thoughts and how much he hated it.

Join the club, buddy.

"I'm clear?" he finally said, with distaste.

"Clear enough."

Let him try that on for size.

Eric didn't know what to make of it. His face was still, but I picked up on a wave of extreme discomfort. Even panic.

"You can't glamour someone to help you," I said. In fact, it was likely that Eric himself could now be glamored. It seemed too cruel to say out loud, but it didn't really matter, because he reached the same conclusion on his own.

He needed me. I didn't like it any more than he did. I probably liked it less than he did.

I laid out my terms. "Don't kill me, don't threaten me, and I'll help you." Within reason.

He studied me, maybe sizing me up, and said, "I'll pay you $20,000."

I'd been listening to his thoughts, but I hadn't heard that coming. "What?" The amount seemed out of proportion. It was a little less than what I had made last year.

"You help me. When I'm back to myself you will see the money."

Gran didn't raise me to turn down an earning opportunity, but the last thing I wanted to do was indebt myself to Eric.

What I hoped to get of our bargain first and foremost was for Eric not to kill me. I figured I'd fix him a couple meals, let him use my shower, maybe make a few phone calls, but I couldn't let myself be put in extreme danger and I wouldn't go out on a limb for him. The potential consequences were too great.

If Eric were paying me, he'd expect me to help him. Like, really help him. And I'd feel obligated to do it. Especially for $20,000. Jesus. I wouldn't even let myself think about how much that money could help with my property taxes. I couldn't believe Eric had that kind of cash to throw around.

If I took the $20,000, I wouldn't be Eric's benefactor. I'd be his employee. I'd owe him. Which is exactly why he'd suggested it.

"Forget the money."

"No money, no deal," he said, and my heart sank. "It's how I know you won't stake me in my sleep." Then he smiled, which creeped me out.

I was scared to turn him down, but I didn't know what else to do. "Eric, you can stay for one night. Tomorrow, I'll call Pam, make sure she had nothing to do with this, then the two of you—"

He cut me off. "No vampires."

I waited for him to say more, but of course he didn't elaborate. "Eric, this is dangerous for me."

"25,000."

It wasn't about the money. "No."

"Thirty."

That's when I realized how desperate he was. He was ready to go to 35. He didn't have a ceiling.

He truly had nowhere else to go.

I was so mad. I couldn't make myself tell him, Yes, you can stay, but I knew right then that there was no way I could turn him loose and live with myself.

I was a fool. He would have never done the same for me.

What the hell was I getting myself into?

I was too steamed to talk to him, so I made a beeline to the sink and rinsed the glass he'd used to get water. That was the extent of my available chores and I didn't want to think.

"Sit down," I told him, because he was hovering near my shoulder and his shadow was creeping me out.

He obeyed.

"I will help you," I said. "I don't know if you can stay here. I haven't decided."

"I will pay you, and I will stay here," he said, as if he were Sheriff of my home.

Yeah, right.

I grabbed a piece of paper off the refrigerator. It was a calendar listing my work hours at Merlotte's. I turned it over. "I want an agreement in writing."

After staring me down for a second, Eric nodded. I found a pen in the junk drawer and wrote out my terms.

I will not kill, harm, or threaten Sookie Stackhouse. Then I drew a line for Eric's signature.

Eric read what I had written, took my pen and added, I will not speak about X. Will not contact vampires without permission. Will obey all reasonable requests. Upon successful competition, will receive $30,000.

"X is me," he said. I figured that he didn't want to commit his name to paper. He made a line for my signature. Then he handed me the pen. I crossed out obey and subbed in help with, then replaced reasonable requests with requests that both parties agree are reasonable.

"You sign first," I told Eric.

He did. It was illegible. He handed me the pen. I added my best John Hancock.

Then, Eric took the pen from me and jammed the point into his palm.

I screamed, more at his sudden movement than the severity of his wound. Blood welled to his cut.

"It's a contract," he said, as if I were stupid, and daubed blood next to his signature. He looked at me, expectant.

"I'm not doing that."

He shrugged. "Fine. Then it's not binding."

"You aren't serious."

He smiled at me, wide, showing all his teeth. It looked truly weird, until I realized that the smile was designed to show off his fangs—fangs he no longer had.

Thousand-year habits didn't die easy. You could take the vampire out of the man, but the man was still capable of some nasty things.

From what I knew of him, Eric kept to the letter of his word once he gave it. While I'd never trust him absolutely, I'd feel a lot better with a document pledging good behavior in my pocket.

Even so, I wasn't about the start jabbing pens in myself. Especially pens dripping with Eric's blood.

I walked over to the silverware drawer, found a steak knife and sliced my thumb. It stung. Eric watched approvingly as I pressed it next to my name, leaving a little red mark.

"We are agreed," he said.

I put the knife in the sink. I didn't want to leave it anywhere near Eric. "I guess we are." I sunk into the chair across from him. I felt worse. I couldn't believe what I'd gotten myself into.

Three hours ago, I'd made the New Year's resolution to stay out of trouble. So much for that. Maybe next year I should resolve to get in as much trouble as possible, and see if it worked any better.

Eric looked at me, but he didn't seem to have much to say. I had a ton of questions for him, but I wasn't sure that I had energy to deal with the answers tonight.

What would Gran have done to fill the silence? Now that Eric was an official houseguest—sort of—she would be spinning in her grave if I didn't at least go through the motions of playing hostess. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"Your food?" Eric said, with distaste, as if the concept were rarely mentioned in polite company.

I tried not to get offended and failed spectacularly. I nodded at the cut on his hand, which hadn't stopped bleeding. "Or you could try that and see how you like it."

Eric glared.

As I eyed the cut, I realized that he'd really gouged himself. "You need a Band-Aid."

He growled at me. It was profoundly weird. But I got the message. Back off.

And I did. I didn't have the emotional energy to hold his hand through his identity crisis. I'd make him some eggs tomorrow when he got too hungry to see straight. If his hand got infected, I'd pour peroxide on it. Basically, I'd be his mother. I was contractually obligated. I would have laughed if the whole situation weren't so horrible.

Other than the frown on his face, Eric didn't seem that different from normal. He did look tired. And his chest was rising and falling.

It's easy to forget that a vampire is a walking corpse. Most seem as animated as you or me. In all the time I'd spent with Eric, I'd never noticed that he didn't breathe. Now, all I could do was watch as his chest went up, then down. It was the most ordinary thing in the world. And it looked strange on him.

What had happened to Eric? Well, I knew what. The question was really how. And why.

"I'm guessing this wasn't intentional," I said

The side of his mouth jerked upwards. Almost a smile. "No."

I waited for him to elaborate.

He didn't, go figure, so I pressed. "What happened?"

His eyes narrowed. "You don't already know?" he said, with resentment and maybe a little spite.

I was taken aback. I could understand that Eric didn't like me reading his mind, but that was no excuse for nastiness. Eric was thinking about the wood grain on my kitchen table, so I assumed he was trying to keep me out. Fine. Let him waste his energy. I usually try to stay out of other people's heads, but Eric had lost that right. As disturbing as his thoughts were, I would keep eavesdropping until I was sure he wasn't plotting to kill me. I didn't even feel guilty about it.

Of course I didn't say any of this to Eric, who was still pretending to be entranced by my table and probably boring himself stiff.

"I'm going to bed." I'd had enough for one night. For one lifetime, come to think of it. "Are you tired?"

"No," he said.

I showed him to his room anyway. I'd decided to put him in my old bedroom. The twin bed was probably too short for him, but I was so fed up, I found it hard to feel sorry about his soon-to-be cramped legs.

"There's a vampire hole in the closet," I told him. "In case anything happens." As much as I'd love to wake up tomorrow morning to find Eric gone, I didn't want him to be a pile of ash.

He nodded, seemingly uncomfortable at the reference to his new condition. I fetched him a towel and an old plaid blanket of Gran's in case he got cold. I showed him how to work the shower.

Then I went to bed.

I locked my door. I had put our contract in the top drawer of my nightstand, but I wasn't taking any chances.

* * *

I tossed and turned. A plot to murder you in your bed will do that. I must have fallen asleep at some point, but before I'd even had half a dream, I opened my eyes. Sunlight was trickling through my window and my alarm clock blinked 9:43 am.

Happy morning.

Eric hadn't killed me in my sleep. Yippee.

I struggled into a robe and cut across the hall to my old bedroom, where I'd deposited Eric the night before. I peeked inside. The bed was rumpled.

But empty.

Maybe last night had been a dream.

I would be so lucky.

I opened the closet, where Bill had built his hidey-hole. My shoes were in place, so I knew it was a fool's errand even as I popped the trap door and looked inside my home's single vampire-approved accommodation.

The light-tight nook was empty.

Eric was nowhere to be found.

What kind of lovely world would I live in if I had dreamt the events of last night? Even if last night hadn't been a dream—if Eric had indeed discovered the secret of life after death and then, for whatever obscure reason, left my house sometime after I'd gone to sleep, it still meant that he was out of my hair, which was a cause for celebration.

Instead, I just felt worried.

I didn't want Eric here, per say, but I didn't want him dead either.

It was easy to forget that I sort of liked Eric. He could be okay and maybe even fun when he wasn't forcing me to work for him, putting my life in danger, or plotting to kill me. Which was maybe about 5% of the time we ever spent together.

I looked in the empty vampire hole. I eyed the empty bed.

I wished Eric had left a note.

Since I couldn't find Eric standing still, I decided to start my day. I put coffee on, jumped in the shower, and emerged to find my whole house smelling like French roast. My life might be in shambles. Vampires were turning into people. But at least I had a fresh pot. I poured myself a steaming cup and went to enjoy it on the porch.

Simple pleasures.

Or not. Because the porch is where I found Eric.

He was sprawled in Gran's favorite rocking chair, asleep. He'd thrown the plaid blanket I'd given him over his face. Blocking out the light. I wondered if he'd gone outside to watch the sun rise. Not that it was any of my business.

His hand lay in a ray of direct sunlight. His skin wasn't smoking. His cut had scabbed.

So last night hadn't been a dream.

I'd sort of known, but disappointment hit me hard anyway. I was glad Eric wasn't finally dead, but that's where the good feelings ended.

Now that the reality of the situation was inescapable, I felt flat-out depressed. I ran through all the ways I could get Eric out of my home without selling him out. I wanted to ask Ginger to take him, but knew I couldn't, because it wouldn't end well for either her or Eric. I thought about lending him my car and telling him to drive until he ran out of gas, but that would leave me without a vehicle and wouldn't get Eric much of anywhere. I'm ashamed to admit that part of me wanted to lock Eric outside and call the police.

Instead, I forced myself to leave the front door open as I went back inside. I couldn't stay on the porch. Eric might wake up and I was too upset to choose my words wisely.

By the time I reached my kitchen table, I felt ashamed.

Eric had no one. He was on my turf. I had to help him, not because of the stupid contract, but because it was the right thing to do. I knew it, but all I wanted was to do was kick him out before he got me killed.

I wished I were a better Christian.

For some reason, reflecting on Lord made me think of an alternative savior.

Pam.

Pam would take Eric.

Eric had rejected the idea last night, but it seemed like a perfect solution. There were only two minor problems. First, Pam might have played a role in whatever had happened to Eric. I didn't think it was likely, but it was possible. I couldn't turn him over to her without determining that she was still loyal.

Problem two was that I'd promised Eric I wouldn't contact any vampires.

It was daytime. I could call Fangtasia without—technically—contacting a vamp. I would be abiding by the letter of my contract with Eric. If I left a cryptic message with Ginger and Pam called me back at night to find out what I'd meant, all the better. Since Pam would reach out to me, I wouldn't—technically—be breaking my promise to Eric. When I had her on the phone, I could try to determine if she was still loyal to him. If everything seemed on the up-and-up, maybe I could drop some hints about her swinging by my house. When Eric saw Pam, I was sure he'd realize that he'd rather stay with her than me.

Problem solved. Admittedly, there were a lot of "ifs" between me dialing Fangtasia and Pam coming to pick up Eric. But I'd take uncertainty over sitting around any day.

It might not be particularly good plan, but it was mine and, most importantly, it was all I could come up with.

I picked up the phone.

I felt guilty going behind Eric's back and nervous about involving another vamp, but if I was going to make Eric Pam's problem, I needed to get the ball rolling before Mr. Large and In Charge woke up.

I dialed Fangtasia before I could talk myself out of it. I seemed to have memorized the number. I wondered when that had happened, then decided not to worry about it.

The phone rang once, twice, and so on. For the first time in my life, I was disappointed when Ginger didn't answer.

My call clicked over to voicemail. It was Pam, sounding bored. "Fangtasia. The bar with a bite."

The machine beeped before I'd decided what to say. I didn't know what was safe to commit to a recording. Nothing about Eric. I probably should have thought it out a little better. "Ginger? Pick up if you're there—"

A click. Someone had answered. The line was silent, except for the sound of breathing.

"Ginger?" I asked.

"Sookie."

I almost dropped the phone.

"Good morning," said Pam, for the first time in over a century.


	3. Breaking and Entering

"Good morning," Pam said, for the first time in over a century.

"Pam?" Her name I could manage. Otherwise, my brain was shooting blanks. All I could do was ask the obvious. "Are you alive?"

"Technically."

"What happened?"

Dead quiet. I listened to Pam breathe. I could only classify the silence as awkward. "I need your help," she said, finally.

Uh oh. "Help with what?"

"Meet me at Fangtasia," Pam said, instead of answering my question. Then, she hung up.

I stared at the phone. Commands and cryptic non-answers. What else did I expect from a vampire?

An ex-vampire.

My head hurt.

It was a small blessing that Eric was still asleep, because I couldn't even begin to puzzle out how I should break the news about Pam.

Eric was going to have a cow. I was certain he had no idea Pam was alive. Why would he have insisted on staying with me if he thought he had anywhere else to go?

Best-case scenario: I told Eric about Pam, they helped each other, and I washed my hands of them. Eric would stay in a vampire safe house and I'd be free to go about my life.

On the other hand, the "best-case scenario" could easily turn into a nightmare. Eric didn't want his secret getting out, so if he moved out and I outlived my usefulness, I'd switch from an ally to a loose end in need of tying quicker than you could say Eric, in the kitchen, with the rope.

For maybe the first time in my life, I wished I could be glamoured. There were some things I just didn't need to know.

Once I started thinking of downsides to telling Eric about Pam, it was a slippery slope.

What if Eric thought I was lying? What if he attacked me? If Pam had been a vampire, reaching out to her would have constituted a breach of our contract. Since she was alive, I hadn't violated our agreement—technically. But Eric was on edge. I didn't know how much weight he would place on technicalities.

I imagined walking to the porch, waking Eric up, and saying, "Pam is alive." I pictured him roaring and ripping my head off.

Okay. That was the worst-case scenario.

Actually—no. Now that I was on this happy train of thought, the worst-case scenario was Eric killing me, then Jason dropping by while Eric was disposing of my remains. The probable outcome was too frightening to dwell on. Eric had hesitated to attack me last night, but Jason would receive no such consideration.

I didn't want to tell Eric about Pam. Too many things could go wrong and it rarely ended well for me.

Pam, on the other hand, had a century's worth of experience breaking bad news to Eric. Plus, it was her secret, which made it her responsibility.

If I wanted Pam to spill the beans, I'd have to set up a play date for the two of them. I had to bring Eric to Pam or vice versa.

I ruled out the Eric to Pam option. I couldn't spend an hour trapped in the car with him, enjoying a one-way connection to his thoughts. An over-the-phone reveal would save me a trip, but if Eric reacted badly, I'd still be home alone with him and he could take out his anger however he liked.

The only alternative was inviting Pam to my house. I wasn't jumping for joy at the prospect of having another vampire in my home and I didn't know how much protection she would actually afford, but I felt better having a buffer—any buffer—between Eric and myself.

After Pam and Eric came out of the coffin to each other, there was the whole separate issue of how or why this happened in the first place.

Pam's news made me think Eric and his people were being targeted specifically. Either that, or there was something in the water in Shreveport. Eric had enemies, but I couldn't think of a particular reason why Eric and Pam alone, out of all the vampires in the universe, would suddenly wake up with a pulse. If they were alive, where did it end?

A disconcerting thought popped into my head.

Could all vampires—everywhere—have turned human?

If the world's undead had come to life, it was going to make headlines.

I raced to the living room, flipped on the television, and thumbed to the closest news channel.

ABC was showing the Rose Bowl parade. NBC, recaps of New Year's Eve celebrations around the world. On FOX, the President had done something the anchors agreed with, big surprise.

I flicked off the television.

So, the vampire apocalypse hadn't happened.

That was a good thing. Well, good for the world, but bad for Eric, and maybe bad for me, because if this illness or curse hadn't hit vampires generally, someone was targeting Eric and Pam. And if they were targets, I could stumble into the crosshairs myself.

What had my New Year's resolution been?

Stay out of trouble.

I looked at the TV clock. 10:03 am.

I hadn't even lasted a half-day.

"Sookie."

Speak of the devil.

I turned. Eric stood in my front hallway, barefoot, Gran's blanket draped over his very broad shoulders. He blinked in morning sunlight, but he hadn't been incinerated by it. Yet.

"Hi," I said.

I didn't hear Eric's reply, because just like that, I was inside his head. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, tuning me to the all-Eric, all the time channel. He was enumerating various aches and pains—cricked neck, cramped leg, the sun in his eyes, and so on. As far as Eric went, it was G-rated, but it was still loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I managed to dial him to a dull buzz, like a radio channel just out of range.

When I came back to myself, Eric was watching me. His expression reminded me of the looks I sometimes got from Merlotte's patrons. "Are you sick?"

"No." But I was mad—mad I couldn't keep Eric out of my head and mad that he was looking at me like I was crazy.

I didn't want to deal with Eric and I needed him to shut up about the sun, so I walked to the window and drew the curtains, even though the winter light seemed mild to my eyes. The living room was immediately dimmer, but I still saw Eric's face go blank.

I realized my mistake. He hadn't said anything about sunlight—out loud.

Eric started thinking in pictures. Rocky beaches I didn't recognize. I figured he was trying to keep me out.

We had been together a minute and I'd already entered dangerous territory. An hour and I'd be wiped out. In a day, I'd be dead, either from exhaustion or less natural causes.

I couldn't keep on just the two of us. I needed backup.

"I'm going out," I said.

Pam had asked for my help. As it turned out, I needed hers. She had to take Eric off my hands. There had to be a safe house where he could hide.

I hoped I wasn't making a mistake turning to her. After all, I'd be able to read her thoughts too. But anything would be better than this. If I stayed with Eric, I'd go crazy. And that was only if he didn't kill me first.

I left the living room. Eric didn't try to stop me. He was still picturing those stupid beaches.

He thought about a giant white cliff. I thought about pushing him off of it.

I regretted it immediately.

* * *

I have never gotten dressed so quickly. I threw on jeans, ran a comb through my hair, checked my word-of-the-day, and was halfway down the stairs before my growling stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten breakfast.

And neither had Eric.

Since he'd turned down food last night, my guess was that he hadn't eaten anything since he'd crossed over.

"For goodness sake," I said.

Eric was a big boy. He understood how to use a microwave for True Blood, so in my book, that meant he could fix his own lunch.

As for me, I wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible, so I decided to treat myself to an Egg McMuffin on the way to Fangtasia. It was New Year's, after all—supposedly a day for celebration.

I walked to the front door and stopped.

Gran would have had a conniption if she knew that I was letting a visitor go hungry under my roof.

I heard the shower in my guest bathroom switch on.

Eric was occupied.

If I made a sandwich while Eric was showering, I could take half for myself and leave the rest for him, thereby assuaging my guilt and pinching my pennies.

Best of all, the two of us wouldn't have to see each other.

I said goodbye to the Egg McMuffin. I pushed into the kitchen, took bread out of the cupboard and found leftover meatloaf in the fridge. In the junk drawer, I scrounged a handful of single-serving ketchup packets left over from my last McDonald's meal.

I started assembling the sandwich, but within seconds, I heard the water shut off. Eric was a speed showerer. Great. Of course he was. Why should I expect to get lucky for one second of one day I spent under the same roof with him?

It was about ten seconds before I heard him and when I say hear, I don't mean with my ears. Eric didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. I knew he was there. He knew I knew he was there.

I turned around.

Eric was still barefoot, but he had lost his shirt—lost everything, in fact—and was standing in my front hall wearing nothing but a towel. I tried to concentrate on the fact that he was dripping all over my hardwood floor and not his very nice chest, which was at eyelevel.

He looked even better by daylight.

I was glad he couldn't read my mind.

"I thought you left," he said.

Oh, so a good time to walk around naked?

"On my way out." I gestured at the half-completed sandwich. "You hungry?"

A normal person would have said something like, Thank you for fixing me breakfast or I'm sorry, I've eaten. Eric's silence—not to mention fact that his face went into lockdown when all I did was ask a simple question—made it easy to remember why I'd couldn't let myself ogle. He was a dangerous man in a beautiful package.

Speaking of packages, I squirted one of the single-serving ketchups on top of the meatloaf. "Red," I said. "You'll like it."

Eric looked grim. "You think this is funny."

The opposite. But if I didn't laugh, I'd cry. "If you don't want it, put it in the fridge so it doesn't go to waste." When he didn't say anything, I tried to feel sympathetic, not exasperated. "You can try True Blood, but I don't think it's going to do much for you."

"I will see you later," he said, and left the kitchen.

I stared after him, then gave up, and got out the carving knife.

I attacked the sandwich. I sliced it into halves, then quarters. I took half for myself and put the rest in the fridge. I cleaned the knife, wiped it, and put it away so Eric wouldn't get any ideas.

I knew the crossover had been traumatic for Eric, but he had nothing to gain by fasting. If he kept this up, he was going to make himself sick. I couldn't force him to eat, nor did I want to try. I imagined telling Eric that I would hold his nose and stuff it—Grandpa Mitchell's favorite threat for Jason and me when we left food on our plates as kids.

Yeah, that would go over well.

If Eric wanted to starve himself, he was an adult and that was his prerogative.

Still, I hated to see him go hungry. I fished through the cupboard until I found the can I was looking for.

Tomato soup.

At least it would look familiar to him.

I left the soup on the counter next to the can opener and went to find Pam.

* * *

I rolled down the windows and put the radio on full blast, but even Shania couldn't cure my blues. I only knew of one man who could turn the dead back to life, but I was willing to bet that Jesus didn't have anything to do with what had happened to Eric.

Speaking of Eric, I had an obligation to do what I could to avert the potential disasters I had any control over. I dug my phone out of my purse and thumbed in a number. The call rang once, twice— and just when I was sure that Jason wasn't going to pick up, he did.

"Sook?' His voice sounded sleep-addled. I'd woken him up. I checked the clock. It was getting on 11 am. If I knew my brother, he'd been partying into the wee hours and then some. I felt bad for introducing him to his hangover, but it couldn't be helped.

"Happy New Year, Jason," I said. "Look, I know you said you'd stop by later, but I'm gonna come to you."

"Not a good idea." Jason confirmed the obvious. He had a woman over. I thought back to the little shifter he'd been with at Merlotte's last night. I wondered if Jason had any idea what he had gotten himself into. If the past was any indication—the answer was defiantly no.

For expediency's sake, I sunk to bribery. "I'll cook you something. We'll eat on your porch. The weather's so nice," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. It was on the mild side for January.

"Sookie—" Jason started.

"Okay, sounds great. I'll see you at three," I said and hung up.

Okay, I'd strong-armed Jason, but I'd rather be bossy than have him stop by my house and surprise Eric. Jason wasn't going to end up buried under Gran's bougainvillea on my watch.

I felt slightly better having solved one problem and was even able to sing along with the radio as I zoomed towards Shreveport. But when I turned off the interstate and pulled into Fangtasia's nearly empty parking lot, my apprehension skyrocketed to previous levels.

The lot was deserted, except for one car.

Somebody had forgotten to pick up his red corvette.

To be fair, he'd had other things on his mind.

Fangtasia was situated in a shopping center just off of I-20. It was a perfect location for a chain restaurant and if the bar ever went out of business, the building would probably become a Waffle House. Of course, the new owners would have to knock out additional windows before they started serving solid food. Fangtasia had one window, located next to the front entrance, and it was always heavily shuttered. By design, the building was as much bunker as bar.

Fangtasia was located next to a giant Toys 'R' Us store (yes, really) and a handful of smaller shops. My private theory was that Eric had picked the location by Toys 'R' Us as a perverse joke, but I had no way to prove it. The normal stores closed by 8 pm, when business at the bar started to pick up, and had reached an uneasy kind of truce with Eric, basically by pretending that Fangtasia didn't exist.

Today, all the shops had their doors shuttered. Even Toys 'R' Us, usually a buzz of activity, stood silent. It was New Year's, so everything was supposed to be closed, but emptiness still felt eerie.

I parked next to Eric's corvette. Movement inside the car caught my eye. I looked over and did a double take.

A man sat in the driver's seat, fiddling with the steering wheel.

I honked. It was pure reflex. It would have been smarter to drive away.

The man looked up. He was wearing a disguise—a Fangtasia baseball cap and a pair of women's sunglasses. He looked like the Unabomber. When he bared his teeth at me, I recognized him.

"Clancy?"

My heart sank. Eric, Pam, and now Clancy. Three down. How many were left?

I didn't roll down my window in case Clancy decided to attack. Mercifully, he just glowered. "She's waiting for you," he shouted through the glass. He pointed at the bar, unnecessarily. I wasn't fool enough to think that Pam would be in Toys 'R' Us.

"What does she want?" I asked, more out of dumb hope than any misapprehension Clancy would tell me what I needed to know.

I should have saved my breath, because he shrugged and turned back to whatever he'd been doing to Eric's car. By the time I had parked, I heard the engine turn over.

Clancy had been hotwiring the corvette.

Eric was going to have a conniption.

Forget Eric, I was having a conniption. If Eric, Pam, and Clancy were now human, it stood to reason that other vampires had crossed over as well. Maybe not all vampires—which would explain the silence on the news— but some subgroup that had so far managed to keep it a secret from everyone but lucky, lucky me. Maybe someone was targeting Louisiana vampires. Or vampires allied with Eric. If so, could Bill have been affected? He wasn't high on my favorite person list, but I didn't like the thought of him waking up in Peru, with a pulse, and having nowhere to turn.

I needed answers. Pam could give them.

Whether she would was another story.

I knocked on Fangtasia's back door.

"Clancy?" I recognized Pam's voice.

"It's me," I said.

The door opened a crack. A blue eye blinked at me. I heard the creak of unlocking bolts.

"What's going on?" I asked, as Pam opened the door. Like Clancy, she was wearing a Fangtasia baseball cap. Unlike Clancy, she had a blossoming black eye.

Instead of answering, Pam yanked me inside the bar. Her grip felt like a vice. She slammed the door shut, sealing out the sun. Illuminated by dim electric light, Fangtasia looked the same as it always did. There weren't any windows in the back part of the bar, so you couldn't tell that it wasn't nighttime.

While the bar looked the same, Pam didn't. I was surprised by how young she seemed. Without the glow all vampires have, Pam appeared less like a housewife and more like an eldest daughter. But for her black eye and grim expression, she could have been somebody's babysitter. I wondered how old she had been when Eric had turned her. Definitely younger than I was now.

Pam broke the silence. "You have Eric."

I didn't have the energy to lie and I needed her help anyway, so I took a deep breath and dove into the deep end. "Eric showed up at my house last night. I don't know how he got there and I don't think he does either."

Pam's face was blank. It was eerie. I knew exactly where she'd learned it. "How is he?"

"He's like you."

She nodded and let go of my arm. She seemed unsurprised.

While her reaction didn't shock me, it certainly made me curious. "What happened?" I asked.

Pam was thinking about Chow and a woman with dark hair I didn't recognize. Her thoughts didn't batter me like Eric's, but I could get a feel for them if I reached out.

She shrugged. "Unimportant."

I disagreed, but I didn't want to start a fight. "Look, you need to take Eric. He can come here. The two of you fix this and I'll stay out of it."

"That will be a problem," she said.

"Why?" I was almost too afraid to ask.

I could see Pam's wheels turning, calculating how much she wanted to share. Her thoughts flickered past me, too fast to read easily, but I saw Chow again and the dark haired woman. I drew back. Listening in on Pam felt ruder than it had with Eric, mostly because I had to make a conscious effort to do it and she hadn't threatened to kill me. Yet.

"There is a dearth of vampires in Area 5," Pam finally said.

Dearth had been a word-of-the-day a few weeks ago. Normally, I'd be glad for the opportunity to use it in a sentence. "A big dearth?" I pressed. "Like, everybody?"

Pam shrugged. "Unclear."

I couldn't think of anything to say, which ended up being okay, because Pam kept talking.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be the case in the rest of state. If the Queen finds out, somebody's head will be on a platter."

I knew two things: Pam wasn't speaking figuratively and 'somebody' was Eric.

"He thinks he's the only one," I said. If Eric knew what was going on, he was hiding it well. Considering that he seemed to be incapable of hiding anything from me, I was pretty sure he had no idea. "You need to talk to him."

"I need to do a lot of things," Pam said. "You need to read a human for me. A woman."

I wasn't thrilled about the prospect, but it seemed like the least I could do under the circumstances. "Is she here?"

Pam shook her head no. "We have a date for tonight."

Considering recent events, I didn't think Pam meant a date in the traditional way, but you could never tell with her.

There was a rap on the door. "Clancy," said a voice.

Pam let Clancy in. She squinted as sunlight streamed inside, slamming the door as soon as he entered. Clancy was still wearing the hat and ladies' sunglasses. I revised my earlier assessment and decided that his strange getup was more for sun protection than disguise. He was also carrying a tire iron, which I assumed he'd stolen from Eric's corvette.

"The car started," Clancy told Pam. To my surprise, he was sweating. Fifty-five degrees or not, the January morning felt nippy to me, but maybe it was warm for someone used to being a vampire. "You didn't kill her?"

I was offended that Clancy was talking like I wasn't there. Death threats were starting to sound disturbingly familiar.

Pam shook her head no. "She has Eric," she said. "And she'll help us."

Before I could say hold your horses, Pam took the tire iron out of Clancy's hand and passed it to me. "Why don't you smash some windows?"

I said "No, thank you," but as it turned out, smashing windows was exactly what I needed. Or really, smashing window, because Fangtasia only had one.

Pam and Clancy had decided to stage a break-in.

"It will give us an excuse to close the bar," Pam explained before she shooed me out the door. Neither she nor Clancy wanted to brave the sunlight.

* * *

Breaking and entering hadn't been on Gran's list of approved extracurriculars, but I told myself it didn't really count as vandalism if the owners asked you to do it. Plus it was for a good cause. Sort of. It was hard to know right from wrong when I was still unclear as to what was going on.

I was a little worried that someone might see me, but the parking lot was still deserted.

But, god help me, I broke that window. Pam had asked me to—basically commanded me, in fact—and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there was some small part of me that wanted to hit something.

I swung the tire iron, heard that first crunch of broken glass, and my doubts melted away. I felt particularly good imagining what Eric's face would look like if he could see me busting up his bar.

When I finished, the window was in pieces. I could see through to the bar where Clancy, still wearing those sunglasses, cleaned out the cash register. He didn't acknowledge my presence.

I looked at the shattered window. I was feeling less blissed out now that I realized someone would have to spend a few hours repairing the damage I'd caused.

Clancy started knocking liquor bottles off the shelf.

I sighed and returned to the employee entrance.

While Clancy and I had been busy breaking and entering, Pam cleaned out files. She met me at the door and handed me two trash bags. One was full of papers, the other of mini-VHS tapes. "Security video," she answered, before I could ask. "For Eric. Put it in your car and come back."

I didn't appreciate being treated like a pack mule, but paperwork and videotapes seemed innocuous enough.

I should have known it wasn't going to end there. When I returned to the bar, Pam was in the process of dragging a large metal case towards the door. If Bruce Willis movies were to be believed, it was the kind of container weapons are shipped in.

"What's that?" I asked, trying to sound curious and not panicked. Unless it was full of paperwork, there was no way I was letting the case into my trunk.

"A box." Pam said.

I didn't appreciate the evasion. "What's inside?"

"Toiletries." That was her way of telling me to buzz off.

I didn't need to know the details to figure out that it was trouble. "I don't want that in my car."

"It won't fit in the corvette."

"Too bad." My Malibu was not much bigger.

"I can't leave it here."

I shrugged. "Not my problem."

"You'll have to rent a car for it," Pam said.

"I don't have to do anything." Pam was either crazy or trying to see how far she could push me.

Pam stared at me. I stared back at her. "Fine," she said. "We'll try the corvette."

I was surprised she'd given up so easily. She must have really wanted the case off the premises.

Pam struggled to get the case down the hallway. I might not like the box or her secrecy, but I didn't want to see her hurt herself, so I bent to help. "The corvette's not coming to my house, right?"

"Clancy will get rid of this first, don't worry," Pam said, which didn't do much to calm my nerves.

The case was heavy. Whether it was the box or its contents, I couldn't be sure. By the time we reached Fangtasia's back door, Pam was breathing hard. It looked as strange on her it had on Eric. "I'm not myself today," she said, when she caught me staring at her. I couldn't tell if she meant it as a joke.

Pam hissed as we stepped into the parking lot. I wondered what was wrong, then realized it was the sun. Pam hadn't seen daylight in over a century. "Do you need a second?"

"I need an eclipse." She put her end of the case on the ground so she could pull the brim of the Fangtasia hat lower on her eyes. "Okay, move it."

It took a good minute to get to the corvette and then another few to shoulder it into the trunk, which wouldn't close. Pam and I ended up creating a makeshift sling with Eric's jumper cables, which would hopefully hold the case in place.

"This would fit a lot better in your car," Pam said.

She was relentless. It reminded me of someone else I knew. "Are you going to tell me what's inside?"

"A corpse," Pam said.

I hoped she was joking. She didn't laugh.

"Then no," I said. "It's not going in my car."

Pam shrugged, and walked back towards Fangtasia.

I looked at the box. I hoped Pam had been kidding. If the case popped loose of the corvette on the highway, it might cause an accident. I had been of half a mind to transfer it to my car, but I couldn't roll over and let myself transport bodies or weapons or whatever. I pulled one of the jumper cables to test it. The box seemed secure.

We got on the road a few minutes later. Pam rode with me, while Clancy followed in the corvette. He was driving slowly, because of the box, so we lost him within a few minutes.

Pam said Clancy would drop the box wherever it needed to go, then meet us at my house. I wasn't hot on the prospect of Clancy coming to my home, or the fact that I'd be outnumbered 3-to-1 by ex-vampires once he got there, but I couldn't think of an excuse to keep him away, especially since Eric and Pam were clearly allowed inside. What was I going to say to Clancy? You can't come over because I don't like you? There was enough ill will between us without me creating more.

"How are you feeling?" I asked Pam, when we were safely on the interstate. Despite all the headaches she was causing, I was embarrassed it had taken me this long to ask. Out of all of the vampires I knew, Pam was the closest I had to a friend.

Pam shrugged. She had pulled the brim of her Fangtasia cap over her eyes and put down the passenger sun shield. She looked miserable.

"What happened to your eye?" It had already begun to turn purple.

"Fight," she said, as if I couldn't have figured it out for myself.

Pam might be miserly with information, but compared to Eric, she was a chatty Cathy. That said, I was sure that as soon as she saw Eric, she'd defer to him. I'd have my best chance squeezing details from her while she was alone. "How do you know it's just local vamps who have— " I searched for the right word to describe their coming back to life.

"Regressed?" Pam supplied.

"Um, okay." I had been thinking something more like 'switched' or 'turned,' but didn't want to argue.

Pam glanced at me from under her hat. She was deciding how much to reveal.

"I spoke with the others last night," she finally said. "We check in, usually. I called. They answered. Everything was normal."

"Did you tell them the truth?"

"No." Pam looked at me like I was stupid.

"They could have been lying," I said. "After all, you lied to them."

Pam shrugged. I caught a flash of something in her thoughts—Chow and Eric, speaking to the dark-haired woman I didn't recognize. Then, a whorl of movement. Blood.

Something had set this off.

"Pam, what happened? Were you there?"

She looked at me, sharp. "What has he told you?"

"Nothing."

Pam leaned back in her seat. "Then it's not my place."

We drove the rest of the way to Bon Temps in silence.

* * *

When I got home, my house was dark. The blinds were down. Every curtain was drawn.

I wondered when the air raid siren had gone off and how I'd missed it.

"Eric?" I called, naming the culprit.

No reply.

I checked the kitchen. The tomato soup sat on the counter, unopened.

I stuck my head inside the spare bedroom. The sheets were rumpled and there was a wet towel on the floor.

I decided to put my purse down and change into sneakers before I went outside to help Pam unload the car. Then, the two of us could look for Eric in earnest.

I walked into my room and stopped.

Eric was sitting on my bed, the contents of my drawers strewn around him.

"Back so soon?" he asked, unashamed.

I didn't know what to say. Get out? As if I could make him. I don't like this? That's why he'd done it. I settled on, "I hope you found what you were looking for." Unless Eric had been looking for my athletic shorts—which I wouldn't put past him—his exercise had been a waste of energy. I didn't have anything to hide.

"Same to you," Eric said, and it took me a moment to realize he meant me reading his mind.

There were so many things I could say. You're too loud, I can't help hearing. Or, if I could trust you, I wouldn't have to listen. But I kept my mouth shut. I wouldn't defend myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

Having failed to get whatever reaction he'd hoped for, Eric turned back to my possessions. I cringed as he tossed aside a fun nightgown I'd bought while dating Bill. It still had tags. We'd broken up before I'd had the opportunity to wear it.

"Stop," I said. He'd made his point.

It was a mistake to show him I cared. Eric smiled, energized by my discomfort. His hand chanced across what looked like a pad of paper. Something on it caught his attention and the smirk slid off his face. He picked it up. It was my word-of-the-day calendar.

Watching him read my calendar felt worse than the rest of his mean-spirited attempts to one-up me. I read the calendar every day. No one else knew about it. It was my private thing, my morning ritual. I didn't like him touching it.

Eric tore off the top page. "Exsanguinate," he said, in a dull tone.

When I'd seen exsanguinate on my calendar earlier, I'd thought the universe was teasing me, but in Eric's hands, it wasn't even slightly funny.

His thoughts pulled me under. I caught a flash of fangs and blood.

I clawed my way back to my own head. If it weren't enough that Eric had forced his way into my home, now I didn't even feel safe inside my thoughts. I was about to say something I'd no doubt regret when he cut me off with, "Are you trying to make this hard?"

That pissed me off. Eric was in control. "I could ask you the same thing."

Before he could reply, the bedroom door creaked open.

"Hello, master," said Pam.

Call me petty, but I liked watching the color drain out of his face.

Exsanguinate, indeed.


	4. Plan B

Eric wasn't speechless for long.

"Stay back," he said to Pam. "She can hear your thoughts."

Pam's eyes flashed to me, cold. I didn't need to read her mind to know I'd dropped a few notches on her favorite persons list.

I was suddenly aware that I was sandwiched between them, with nowhere to run.

I forced a deep breath. My knee-jerk, "For goodness sake," sounded weak, even to my ears, so I tried to lay down the law with, "I'm not your enemy."

Eric bared his teeth, once again showing off the fangs that weren't there. What had been so threatening now looked like a nervous tic. I almost said something, but caught myself. I didn't want to be mean and, boy, did I not want to provoke him.

Pam seemed no friendlier. She stood in the exit, but she wasn't blocking it. Yet.

Now was the time to leave, before Eric decided that I couldn't.

The door out was only five feet away, but the walk there felt like one of the longest of my life. Eric's eyes bored holes in my back and Pam's glare brought the frontal assault. When I reached the threshold, I was afraid Pam would block me, but to my surprise, she stepped out of the way to let me pass.

"Thanks." I forced a smile. A peace offering.

Pam just looked at me. Her face was blank, but her mind was going at about a hundred miles a minute.

She'd killed Chow.

She was wondering how to tell Eric.

The thought was there, then gone, and Pam was on to thinking that Eric looked exhausted.

I stared at her.

One side of my brain was thinking, holy shit; the other, don't stop smiling.

This was exactly the kind of thing Eric hadn't wanted me to hear.

"Sookie?" Eric's voice. Over my shoulder.

Crap.

I forced myself to look at him. "What?"

"Shut the door as you go."

It was the best thing he'd said to me all day.

Dear God, did I ever shut that door. I shut that door and just kept walking. I was able to get halfway down the hall before my legs gave out and I had to sit on the floor. My hand was shaking.

"Stop that," I told it. Then I thought, stop that, because no matter how bad things got, I couldn't start talking to myself.

Chow made me nervous. I didn't like him. But I didn't want him dead.

The less I knew, the safer I would be. But with open minds spilling their secrets, I was afraid I'd learn the full story eventually, and there wouldn't be a thing I could do to stop it.

* * *

Out of hunger, desperation, and maybe a little spite, I cracked open the tomato soup as soon as I hit the kitchen. I slopped it in a pan and had just turned on a burner when I heard a knock at the back door.

I closed my eyes and wished it away.

The knock sounded again. Louder.

I walked to the door and peeked through the blinds. Clancy stood on my stoop, pounding away. He didn't seem to be anywhere near giving up.

Luck was not on my side today.

I opened the door. I would have preferred to turn the deadbolt.

Clancy's expression was grim. Like someone had died. Or, perhaps, come to life.

"You okay?"

He glowered and ignored the question. His feet were planted just outside my threshold.

"You don't need an invitation," I said, in case he had been waiting.

"I'd like one," he said, as if I were being rude.

I had thought opening the door qualified, but ending the argument was more important than winning it. "Okay," I said. "Come on in."

And he did. Clancy made a full circuit around my kitchen, as if he were sweeping for bombs, before settling at the table.

I nodded towards the corridor. "Eric and Pam are down the hall."

It was what my grandmother would call a healthy hint, acceptable to give guests after they'd overstayed their welcome, but not as soon as they walked in the door. I was being rude, but, then again, so was Clancy, whether he'd admit it or not.

Clancy ignored me and asked, "Do you have a shovel?"

"What for?" He sure as hell wasn't planting petunias.

"Business."

I wish we could have left it at that, but lucky old me heard the details in his head. My 20 acres were looking nice and deserted to him. Ripe for planting. The metal case was still strapped in the back of the corvette and he had to bury it before the bodies inside—yes, bodies, as in corpses, as in plural—started to smell.

"Not on my property, you don't."

When Clancy's eyes widened, I realized my mistake. Stress had made me sloppy.

Clancy's mind wandered to the crowbar in Eric's corvette and I knew I had to think fast.

He'd only respond to one argument: what was in it for him.

If Clancy hid the corpses on my property, the deaths could be linked to yours truly. That worried me, not Clancy, who cared zip about my wellbeing. More persuasive to him would be the fact that burying the bodies on my land compromised Eric's safe haven. As soon as the corpses went in the earth, there was a chance the police would show up at my door. Without glamour, the Area 5 vamps could find the Bon Temps P.D. a more formidable obstacle than usual.

"Do you want to bring the police here?" I asked Clancy.

He stared at me, blank. He hadn't connected the dots.

I broke it down for him. "If you want to hole up at my house, you'd be stupid to attract cops."

"I don't want to hole up," he said.

It was music to my ears. Unfortunately, I couldn't sing his tune and get the bodies off my land.

"Well, Eric does." I hated to condone Eric's presence, but I couldn't think of another way to convince Clancy. "He's here, for now, and I don't think he'd want you bringing police." Honestly, I could give two toots about what Eric wanted, but I'd use his name if it helped get Clancy's cargo off my property.

Clancy knew I was right. He gave me a venomous look. "You try hiding a body in the daytime."

No, thank you.

For some reason, hearing 'body' out loud upset me more than the flashes I'd picked from Clancy's thoughts. There were corpses in my driveway. I should be dialing 911. I didn't know if it was terror or self-preservation that kept me away from the phone. Either way, the instinct made me feel rotten.

I wanted to tell Clancy to get off my property and never come back, but it would have been stupid, maybe even suicidal, and he almost certainly wouldn't have listened. The only way to get the bodies off my land was to give him a better place to hide them.

But what did I know about hiding corpses? And, more importantly, who would I be hiding? Chow was very likely one, but the other—if it were an innocent, a waitress who'd seen the wrong thing, for instance—could I help Clancy cover up her death? I didn't think so. But what if my only other option were standing by while he hid her on my land?

"Who's in the trunk?" I didn't want to know, but there was no way around it.

Clancy stayed mum, but once again I saw the answer in his head: A woman. Dark hair. I recognized her from Pam's thoughts.

She lay on the floor of Eric's office, bleeding out. Chow stood over her, mouth red. His shoulders were rising and falling. Heavy breathing. Like he'd run a race. Chow coughed, then doubled over, and began to hack up the blood he'd just drunk.

He was human. I felt Clancy's revulsion as my own.

Clancy's memories blurred— a movie on fast-forward. Pam and Chow fighting. Chow's fist connecting with Pam's face. Her black eye.

On instinct, I closed my eyes to block out the images. It didn't do any good.

When I opened my eyes, Clancy was looking at me. He'd figured out that I was reading his mind. For some reason, he seemed calmer about it than Eric had been.

Maybe he had fewer secrets.

"Chow fucked up," Clancy said. Like Pam, he believed Chow deserved to die.

I wished I could trust his judgment.

Again, I thought about calling 911, but I couldn't think of what good it would do and immediately came up with a whole lot of bad, starting with Bud, Andy, and me getting killed. I didn't want to help Clancy hide Chow's body, or the woman that Chow had killed, but I wanted them buried on my land even less. Was that selfish? Probably.

I'd leave it for God to judge.

"There's a nature preserve two exits down I-20," I said. "Gate out front, but if you take the parish road you can cut across to the marsh." I'd never been there myself, but Jason had taken girls in high school and he'd never seen a soul. He'd never told me about the hideaway, but he had thought about it a bunch when we were younger.

Clancy looked taken aback. I half regretted telling him anything. But I hadn't really had a choice.

"Never bring dead things on my property again," I said.

"That might be difficult," said a voice from the doorway.

I turned. Eric. And behind him, Pam.

Halftime was over.

On cue, my tomato soup started to boil.

It was the excuse I needed. I made for the stove and watched out of the corner of my eye as the ex-vamps entered the kitchen. After a sharing a series of significant glances with each other and Clancy, they seated themselves at the table.

They wanted something from me.

I played dumb and took four bowls out of the cabinet.

"Clancy, take care of Chow," Eric said.

Clancy gave Eric a look. I couldn't tell if it was anger or what—it definitely wasn't a positive emotion—but he left the kitchen, slamming the back door behind him.

I couldn't say I was happy to be alone with Eric and Pam. Especially now that I'd learned Chow had been executed. If they had killed one of their own, where did that leave me?

Eric was watching me. I had my back to him, but I heard it in his head. I didn't want any more surprises along the lines of what I'd picked from Pam, so I struggled to put up my shields. Blocking Pam was easy, but Eric ended up being more like a radio signal just out of range. Every so often, I'd get a stray thought.

It was an improvement over complete bombardment. It was easier to block him than it had been this morning. Maybe familiarity helped. Whatever it was, I was grateful.

I couldn't decide what to do about the vampires, so I turned my attention to the soup. I dished it into three bowls. I knew Eric hadn't eaten and suspected Pam was the same. Food might improve their attitude.

When I set soup in front of him, Eric gave me a look I couldn't decode. Pam was openly disgusted. I ignored her dramatics, took my own bowl, and sat across from Eric.

Without looking at me, Eric took a single spoon of soup.

He must want something badly.

The realization didn't make me happy, but bad news feels worse on an empty stomach, so I began to eat myself.

Once Eric tried his soup, Pam picked up her spoon and forced a few bites. She obviously didn't enjoy it and abandoned the soup after a few seconds.

Eric, on the other hand, emptied his bowl, possessed by some purpose that didn't seem like hunger. He matched me spoon for spoon. I didn't know what he was trying to prove, but I was glad he was at least eating.

The only time we spoke was when I asked if anyone would like bread. As soon as the words left my mouth, Eric said, "No," and Pam grimaced.

When we were done, I began to bus the dishes, but Eric gave Pam a look. She took the bowls out of my hands and started rinsing them in the sink. I was about to protest, but Eric said, "Sit."

I didn't appreciate the order. I stood next to the table, arms folded. Eric probably figured that was good enough, because he nodded at Pam, and she started talking.

* * *

"We want you to read a woman for us."

Pam had said as much at Fangtasia, but I was short on details. "What kind of woman?"

"A young one." I could only assume Pam was being deliberately unhelpful. "We're meeting her after nightfall."

It was only 3 p.m., but I figured Eric and Pam didn't want to advertise that they weren't available earlier. "If I do this thing for you, that's the end of it?" The potato was getting too hot for me.

Pam and Eric looked at each other. I waited for Eric to say something, but once again, Pam spoke. "Eric tells me he's paying you."

"I'd rather be left alone," I said, dead honest.

"Really." Pam looked annoyed. Eric did too, but he kept quiet. It made me think he was saving up for something, which in turn, made me nervous.

"Truly," I told Pam and made a beeline to the dishwasher to correct the way she was loading the bowls. She was placing them open side down, like little domes. You'd think she never loaded dishes before. I realized that she probably hadn't.

"Sookie, pay attention," Pam said.

I looked at her to let her know I was listening, then went back to correcting her subpar dishwashing.

"You will honor your agreement with Eric," Pam said.

I felt angry enough to give her some lip, so I kept quiet rather than say anything I'd regret.

For some reason, my silence spurred Eric to breaking his own. "Do you know what's going on?" His tone was light—meaning, he was furious.

That made two of us.

"I'm good, actually." I liked Eric—more or less—and I'd help him within reason, but he was abusing the privilege, and I had to draw the line. I didn't want to put myself in danger, yet again. When I'd gone to Jackson to find Bill, I'd loved him—I hadn't had a choice. But this time, it wasn't my fight.

Eric ignored me. "Someone is trying to take over my Area."

I'd figured that part out myself, what with vampire honchos suddenly turning human. "And I'm sorry about it. Really. But—"

"You will be sorrier if the coup succeeds," Eric said. "What's Area 5's prime attraction?"

"Not the rich cultural life." Pam's tone dripped with scorn.

Not the boudin at the Grabbit Kwik, either. The answer was living across the cemetery from me. I'd hoped that the brouhaha over Bill's database would have calmed down after the mess in Jackson. "I gave the discs back to him. I'm sure he didn't leave them in his house while he's gone."

Pam and Eric looked at each other.

"How many Areas have a telepath?" Eric said.

I felt a stab of fear. I could see where he was going and I didn't like it one bit. "Barry lives in Texas."

"Do you feel overtaxed?" Eric said. "Do I work you too hard?"

He didn't want to get me started.

He must have seen a glint in my eye, because he was quick to jump in with, "I call on you judiciously."

The past 24-hours hadn't felt judicious, but I kept my lips buttoned tight as a church lady's girdle.

"It could be worse, Sookie," he said, almost gentle. "You have a stake in my fate. Maybe even more than Clancy."

I knew Eric was trying to manipulate me. In spite of my better judgment, it was working. Between Eric and the possibilities, I was inclined to take the devil I knew.

That didn't mean I was happy about it.

"Fine," I said. "But you're human now. Start acting like it." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt a stab of fear at my recklessness, but I didn't want to spoil it by backing down. Eric glared. I met his gaze. "You're making it hard for me to help you."

Eric and Pam looked at each other. I could tell he was furious.

I had limited sympathy. After all, I was pissed too. "If I'm going to read this woman, I need to know what's going on."

"Sit," Eric told me.

This time, I did.

"I was contacted by a witch—" he began.

"Hold up. Witches?" Sue me for interrupting, but you can't drop a thing like that into a conversation and not expect a person to react.

But there were werewolves and vampires. Witches weren't that much of a stretch. What was next? Leprechauns? Fairies? I couldn't consider the possibilities. Witches were enough to grapple with.

"Like black hats and broomsticks?"

"No," Eric said and then, for once, started talking.

Eric's story was short and to the point. A witch wanted a cut of his business and threatened to curse Fangtasia to get it. He'd said no, at which point she'd sent a minion with a counteroffer—the woman with dark hair I'd seen in everyone's thoughts. The witch agreed to a lesser take in exchange for time between the sheets with Eric. I could vouch for Eric's skills in that department, but even so, it seemed to me that the witch was thinking with her hootchie and not her brain. Unless she had a deeper game at play.

Eric turned down the witch's offer. Pam wondered why and I did too, knowing Eric to be practical, but he hadn't volunteered a reason—out loud or in his thoughts—and our truce was too tenuous for me to indulge my curiosity by asking.

That's when everything had gone south. Chow attacked the witch's messenger, killing her. In the process, he set off a spell that made Eric disappear and turned the vampires at Fangtasia—Pam, Clancy, and Chow himself—human.

"I killed Chow," Pam said, without a hint of feeling. I didn't tell her that I already knew. "I don't know if he was deliberately working against us or just stupid." She believed he deserved death either way.

I didn't know what to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut.

"Then I called the witch," Pam said. "I thought she had Eric, so I told her we would bargain, and agreed to meet her at Fangtasia tonight."

I was horrified. "It's a trap." If the witch cast the spell that set off this whole mess, she had to know Pam was coming to the meet handicapped.

"Perhaps." Eric seemed unconcerned, which made me nervous. "You will be there. You can read her and find how to undo this curse."

There were a lot of things about this plan I didn't like, starting with me being in a room with a witch. "I can't just find an answer in her head. It doesn't work that way. Plus, won't she wonder who I am?" I said, because it felt slightly better than saying won't she kill me? which is what I really worried about.

"You can hide," Eric said. "There is a closet in my office."

Locking myself in a closet sounded like the opposite of a good idea. "What if she has a spell to find people?"

Eric shrugged. "Then, do not hide. As long as you read her, I don't care."

His lack of concern made me want to rip his plan to shreds. It was easier than it really should have been. "Whatever happened to avoiding other vampires? Fangtasia? At night? I mean, come on."

"That's why you're going in alone," Eric said.


	5. The Ghost

It was the stupidest plan I'd ever heard.

Eric wanted me to sit in his office until the witch arrived, at which point I would tell her I was Eric's telepath and he was offering my services in exchange for an end to current hostilities. In this scenario, the overjoyed witch would take me to her car, where Eric and Pam would jump her, truss her and shuttle her to an undisclosed location where I could rummage through her mind.

Eric had decided that this idiot plan deserved a second of his consideration because it a) "bought me time" to read the witch and b) kept him out of Fangtasia. The bar was closed, thanks to our staged break-in, but there was still a risk that someone might be inside and, as Pam was quick to remind me, "We have to kill anyone who sees us alive."

Halfway through Eric's explanation, I decided that I'd rather face his anger than allow myself to be cannon fodder. His plan was foolhardy, but worst of all, it relied on the witch being an idiot. If Eric thought it would work, he hadn't lost his fangs. He'd lost his mind.

When he finally stopped talking, I said, "Absolutely not," and braced myself for his response.

To my surprise, Eric smiled.

"There is one other way," he said.

My heart sank. I'd been played.

Eric primed me with his awful Plan A to make Plan B seem more appealing. The fact that he felt like he needed to fall back on tricks told me that I wouldn't like what I was about to hear.

His lead-in gave me palpitations. "I want you to tell the witch the truth."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell her I'm hiding in your home and you're afraid I'm going to kill you." He looked right at me, and in that moment, I got a sense he knew how hard this was for me. "Explain your connection to me however you want. You're a waitress at the bar. You're my human. Then ask for her help getting rid of me."

"Why?" If I were being kind, I'd call his idea idiotic. A blunter person might label it suicidal. If I didn't know Eric, I'd think he was orchestrating an overly elaborate way to get himself killed. "What if she takes me up on the offer?"

"That's what we want," he said. "Get her in your car. Say you'll bring her here."

That was never going to happen. "The witch isn't coming to my home."

"She'll never make it. Pam and I will wait along the road."

"Another ambush?"

Eric just looked at me, which meant yes. His silence annoyed me. I wanted to ask why he couldn't just vocalize like a normal person, but I took a leaf from his book and kept my mouth shut.

To be fair, Eric had limited time to come up with a plan; it had been less than an hour since Pam and I walked in the door. And if we'd been trying to kidnap a regular person, his idea might work. But I thought he was being too cavalier about the danger the witch posed to me, as well as himself and to Pam, especially now that they were human.

When I thought about it in those terms, Eric's logic fell apart. He strategized like a vampire. How was he going to ambush a car? He was strong, but that was a feat beyond a living person.

Telling Eric the truth— your plan won't work because you aren't a vampire anymore— felt cruel. But, on the other hand, if he was going to make it out of this mess alive, he needed to face reality.

An hour ago, I would have thought it impossible, but I felt sorry for Eric. There's no easy way to tell a person they have limits.

I almost felt like it wasn't my place to tell him. Eric and I shared some good times, but I wouldn't call us intimates or even friends. He was with me now because he had no one else.

But that was just it—there was no one else. If I didn't tell him, who would? Pam wasn't going to say boo to Eric and she was dealing with the same issues herself.

I decided to softball him. If the last 24 hours had taught me anything, it was the value of treading carefully around him.

"I think you should forget the car," I said. "It's too complicated. If you want to grab her, do it at Fangtasia."

"No," Pam said. "Anyone looking for Eric would start there. If they see you, fine, but either of us?" She shrugged, rather than put words to the outcome.

I didn't disagree, but it begged the question, "Why Fangtasia?" Eric and Pam kept harping on it, but meeting at the bar seemed risky to me, even if it were shut down.

"Fangtasia is the usual place. Anywhere else and the witch would know there's a problem."

"She already knows. She cast the spell on you."

"She doesn't know it worked," Eric said.

That sounded like wishful thinking. But I could hardly say it. I tried find a gentler way. "How do you know? You can sense people through your blood." Actually, he could sense—past tense—but I didn't bother correcting my mistake. "Maybe she can feel her spells."

The idea seemed no more ridiculous to me than the GPS properties of vampire blood, but Eric and Pam smirked at each other.

"Either way, she'll know as soon as she sees you." He couldn't argue with that.

His smirk turned down a few notches. "Yes."

As I studied him, a solution occurred to me. "Is your maker alive?"

Eric seemed sideswiped. "Why?" he said, which I took as a yes.

"Can't she turn you again?" It seemed like the easy fix.

Eric and Pam looked at each other.

"No," he said, and left the kitchen, which ended the conversation.

* * *

I didn't know why my suggestion offended him, but it was just as well, because Pam followed him out and just like that, I was free to go about my upturned day.

The first thing I did was call Jason to cancel our New Year's dinner. As much as I didn't want to be around Eric and Pam, I was more afraid of leaving them on their own.

Jason didn't pick up his phone, which told me he was probably busy with his new lady. It was fine by me. She'd keep him occupied and out of my house, which was best for everyone.

A day dealing with Eric put Jason's problem into perspective. Sure, his new girlfriend was a shifter, but so was Sam and he was normal, more-or-less. Jason's lady friend was probably fine. I hoped she turned into a bunny, or something equally cuddly, but if that wasn't the case, I had too many things to worry about without adding Jason's love life to the list.

Right now, I was just glad he had company. It made me feel better about abandoning family on New Year's.

When Jason's answering machine flicked on, I apologized and, in a fit of optimism, asked if we could do dinner later in the week.

I hung up. Eric and Pam were still MIA, hiding behind a closed door. He'd probably gone off to brood or plot my demise. She was obviously where he was, laughing at his jokes, giving him a foot massage, or doing whatever it was she did to earn most-favored sidekick.

I didn't bother looking for them. Instead, I initiated Operation Avoid Vampires, which is a fancy way of saying I went outside to the porch. I figured Eric and Pam wouldn't want to brave the sunlight.

I underestimated them.

I had roughly five minutes of peace before Pam made her way outside. Her hair was wet and she was wearing one of my church dresses, which meant she had gone through my closet without asking. My dress was big on her, but she'd belted it, and topped off the outfit with a wide-brimmed hat that Gran used wear while gardening. Pam must have found it inside the box of Gran's things I kept at the back of my closet.

Taking my dress was an annoyance, but stealing Gran's hat felt like a violation. I almost said something, but stopped myself. There wasn't any point. Pam was never going to apologize.

She stood in a pool of shadow close to the door.

I didn't want to talk to her, so I turned towards my lawn. Bill's house stood in the distance. I wondered if this mess would be any easier if he were here. With my luck, probably not.

"You must read the witch," Pam said, behind me.

"Why?" I'd suggested an alternative—talk to Eric's maker. He'd vetoed it, even though I'd thought it was a good idea. What other vampire would care about Eric's wellbeing? I was sure Eric helped Pam whenever she was in trouble. Longshadow's maker cared for him—he'd demanded reparation when he died. While Bill and Lorena had a troubled relationship, they'd at least been invested in each other. It was hard to find a vampire who gave two hoots for any other and Eric needed all the help he could get.

Unfamiliar thoughts pressed against my own.

Speak of the devil.

I turned. Like Pam, Eric was standing in the shadow by the door. Unlike Pam, he was wearing his same clothes. After all, he could hardly wear mine. He as grim as before.

On second glance, he didn't seem grim so much as tired.

Eric was thinking about how stubborn I was.

I put up my shields.

"Sookie," he said. "Stop fighting me."

"I'm trying to keep you from getting killed." I didn't want to die either, but I thought Eric would respond best to an argument focusing on his own safety.

"Then we have the same goal."

I shrugged. I was afraid to commit to anything. He'd hold me to it.

"I need to know who sent the witch."

"She could be acting on her own."

"Could be. I know as much as you do." He sounded defeated, almost like he couldn't imagine sinking any lower.

I felt sorry for him.

"Please," he said, which wasn't a word he used often.

If I were going to put myself in danger, I needed to know Eric was for real. He rarely lied outright, but he certainly misrepresented the truth, and I wasn't about to walk into a dangerous situation without an understanding of the playing field.

I dropped my shields.

His thoughts filled my head.

The first thing I felt was his fear. He didn't know what might happen if news of his situation reached the Queen. He didn't think Fangtasia could stay closed for long before she realized that there was a problem.

Eric's worries were a crash course in vampire politics. He jumped from one topic to another in a matter of seconds. By the time he was done, my head was spinning.

There was a gaping hole at the top of Area 5. With Pam human, there was no acting Sheriff. Eric couldn't contact another vampire without risking that they would kill him, glamour him or go to the Queen. He was working against the clock. He needed time to break the curse, but if Area 5 remained untended, he wouldn't even have that before she sent someone to investigate.

I hadn't even realized that was an issue.

I understood why he was so desperate to take action.

"How long can Area 5 get by without a Sheriff?" I asked.

Eric tensed. He'd suspected I'd been reading his mind, but now he knew for sure. I felt his anger as if it were my own.

It would have been wiser to be coy about the mindreading. But Eric had guessed what was going on and any pretense seemed less important than getting to the point.

We didn't have time to be anything other than honest with each other.

Eric seemed to come to the same conclusion. "Until someone notices."

So, not long at all.

We had to find a vampire to take the reins. "Who do you trust?"

Eric looked at Pam. Pam looked at the bushes.

So, no one.

That seemed so sad to me. I gazed across the lawn. Bill's house. Eric followed my eyes, and said, "Not Bill."

Bill and I had our problems, but I knew him to be an honest man when it counted. "I trust him."

"That is nice for you," Pam said.

Eric shot her a look. She pursed her mouth shut. "Bill is not the right choice." Eric was obviously choosing his words carefully. He was thinking about a young woman with red-brown hair. She looked to be about 16, but from the caution in Eric's thoughts I assumed she was much older. I wondered who she was and how she knew Bill.

I wanted to ask, but I didn't want to antagonize Eric. Pam must have noticed something, because she nudged Eric. He looked at me. I looked away.

"You should not poke around," Eric said. "You might not like what you find."

I'd learned that lesson young. I didn't need to hear it from him.

"You're not easy to tune out," I said, and walked inside.

Eric didn't let me enjoy my exit line. Before I'd gone five steps, he was in the house and, somehow, right in front of me. He was so tall, my eyes were at his chest-level. He was breathing heavy. It looked strange. I was used to seeing Eric move quickly. I wasn't used to seeing the effort.

He touched my arm. I flinched. With the touch came his thoughts, flowing, almost as if he were pushing them.

Eric was desperate. He needed a lead. The witch was the only link to the person plotting against him. He didn't know who else to follow.

"Sookie," he said. "Read her for me."

It sounded like a command but it wasn't. Not really. Eric might not be able to phrase it as a question, but he was asking for my help. He didn't know what else to do.

I couldn't say no.

I couldn't make myself say 'yes' either, so I just nodded.

"Okay." Eric looked flat-out relieved. Then he ruined it by smirking. It was as if he'd been expecting me to acquiesce all along.

"One condition." I said. "We do it my way."

* * *

It took me a good half hour to convince Eric to go along with my plan. Pam blew whichever way he did. When he came around, the three of us mapped out details.

Clancy still wasn't back as the sky began to darken, but the ex-vamps decided we should meet the witch without him. It would have been nice to have another person for backup, but we'd staged everything so tightly, we didn't need him.

I packed my purse. I put in my wallet, some lip gloss, and then went to the kitchen to find the carving knife I'd hidden from Eric the night he arrived. It was the closest thing I had to a weapon. Pam walked into the room as I was putting it into my bag. She stopped, reached into her own purse, and, to my horror, took out a handgun.

"I bought it for the waitresses," she said, offering it to me. "You will need it before I do."

That was probably true. I took the gun from her outstretched hand and tried not to feel apprehensive. "Thanks." It was heavier than I thought it would be.

Pam held out her hand. "Knife?"

I hadn't realized that she wanted to trade. I was less than thrilled about giving Pam a weapon, but she'd handed me her gun, so it only seemed fair. I took the carving knife out of purse and passed it to her, handle first.

"What do you use this for?" Pam asked, surveying the blade with professional interest.

"Turkey." It was my Thanksgiving knife. "Sometimes hams."

"Ladies." Eric breezed through the kitchen on his way to the back door. "It's time."

He opened the door and started into the darkness. There was a bounce in his step. Maybe it was imminent battle or just plain old nightfall. Both he and Pam seemed to have relaxed when the sun went down.

I was about to follow when the phone rang. Out of habit, I reached for the receiver.

"Leave it," said Pam, already in the doorway. Eric paused on the steps outside.

I shrugged. I didn't want to be late to meet the witch, especially since we had to set up. My phone could wait. If it was important, the caller would leave a message.

As I flicked off the kitchen light, my answering machine kicked in—me, saying something about the Stackhouse residence and how I'd get back to you ASAP. The machine beeped and I heard a ghost.

"Sookie?"

The voice was soft, the connection fuzzy, but I recognized the speaker immediately.

Eric and Pam be damned, I went back in that kitchen, and grabbed the receiver. "Hadley?"


	6. Blind Date

"Hadley?" I said.

The only reply was a dial tone.

"Let's go, Sookie." Pam stood next to me, finger on the phone's switchhook. She'd disconnected the call.

I couldn't believe her nerve. "That was my cousin."

"I don't care if it was your fairy godmother," Pam said. "Time's ticking."

I was mad. I slammed the receiver down. Pam had to move her finger to avoid being squished.

The phone started ringing the moment the receiver touched the holder. I'd never seen the point in paying for caller ID, but tonight, it didn't matter. I knew it was Hadley, calling back.

I reached for the receiver. But before I could grab it, Pam slapped my hand away and picked it up herself. She put the receiver back into the holder, ending the call, and unplugged the phone from the wall.

I was so frustrated, it was a struggle to find words. "I haven't spoken to Hadley in years."

And that had been right before she went into rehab for the second time, which she later disappeared from, leaving Gran out $3000.

I looked at the unplugged phone.

Memories flooded back. I was glad Hadley was alive, but that's where my good feelings ended. When she ran away after her junior year of high school, she hadn't told a soul where she was going. We'd feared her dead, until she called one night after Aunt Linda had gotten sick, asking for money. Aunt Linda had died a few weeks later and Hadley missed the funeral. I don't think Gran had ever forgiven her, although she'd sent Hadley money the one or two other times she'd called out of the blue, needing a handout.

All Hadley had done in her short life was use and abuse my family. I thought this was a reunion? Who was I kidding? I hoped Hadley was reaching out to make amends, but if her past behavior was anything to go on, she was probably calling for money.

I wasn't glad that Pam had cut the call, but I was all of a sudden a lot less eager to speak with my cousin. Sure, we were flesh and blood, but some people used that tie as license to abuse. After the initial rush I felt hearing Hadley's voice and getting confirmation she was alive, I almost dreaded finding out what she wanted.

I didn't want to be disappointed.

Pam picked up the phone, cords and all. "The sooner you do your job, sooner you can have your reunion." Then she carried herself, and my phone, out the back door after Eric.

The screen door slammed shut behind her. All I could do was follow.

"God, Hadley," I said, as I stepped into the night.

My idiot, drug addict cousin could not have picked a worse time to call.

* * *

The Bossier City mall was almost deserted, which was made sense, as it was New Year's and most people were busy with family. There were a few husbands on last-minute errands, a handful of shopaholics with more bags than they needed, and, of course, the employees who couldn't get the night off.

"Free sample, beautiful?"

As I walked past a perfume kiosk, the roving vendor sprayed me in the face. His thoughts reached out for me. He was desperate to make a sale. I forced a smile and kept walking. I felt sorry for those poor men who roamed the mall, accosting every woman that passed, but that made the assault-by-fragrance no less annoying.

"Honey, wait,'" the vendor yelled after me. I quickened my pace. I had somewhere to be. I had a date.

Well, kind of.

Eric had a date. I was filling in.

It was all part of our plan.

"I want you to call the witch and tell her you've reconsidered your offer," I had told Eric a few hours earlier, right after he'd followed me into my house and guilted me into helping him again.

He gave me a hard look. "I haven't reconsidered her offer."

"I know that," I said. "But she doesn't."

My plan was simple. Eric would call the witch and tell her that he'd play ball. He'd ask to meet in a public place—a reasonable request due to their recent hostilities. When the witch showed up, Eric wouldn't be there.

But I would.

Of course, the witch wouldn't know it. Anonymous in the crowd, I'd be free to poke through her mind. Once the witch realized Eric wasn't coming and left, I could do the same. She would never even know I was there.

Eric was quick to point out that my plan wasn't perfect. It was dependent on what the witch was thinking at any one moment. There was no guarantee we'd net any useful information. If she were composing her grocery list, for instance, there wouldn't be a thing we could do about it.

I was willing to take that risk. Eric's first instinct—kidnap and question—might yield results. But I wasn't confident that we could pull off a kidnapping, especially with our vamps operating on half-cylinder.

I saw of this as a starter plan—one that would give us enough information to get a better sense of what was going on. From there, we could figure out what to do next.

I pitched it to Eric as such. Even so, he was reluctant.

"You want to expend too much capital for unsure gain," he said. "If I set up a meet with the witch, I'll never be able to do that again."

"And if your plan goes south, we're all dead." I broke it down for him. "What's the worst that can happen with mine? I get nothing useful from her head? We're no worse off than we are now."

Eric glowered. "Except I will have wasted my opportunity to meet with her."

"Kidnapping her is a mistake. Look what she did to you on your on turf." Fangtasia was the center of Eric's little empire. And that had meant squat to the witch when she turned him human.

Eric glowered at me, but it had to be said. The witch was not to be taken lightly.

He threw down the gauntlet. "I'm going after her."

"Fine." If he was going play hardball, I could too. "You'll have to do it without me."

I hoped Eric didn't do it. He wasn't on my favorite person list, but I hardly wanted him dead. Out of my house maybe, but not six feet under. He'd lived 1000 years. It would be a shame to see him throw it away.

Eric's face went blank. "That is a very brave thing to say, Sookie." It wasn't a compliment. His voice was too even. A shiver went down my spine.

But I knew I had the upper hand. Eric could threaten me. He could even tie me up and force me to go with him to see the witch. But he couldn't make me play a part in his plan. And without me luring the witch or, for that part, reading her mind, his plan would stall before it even started.

I knew it. He knew it. Thanks to my extra sense, I knew he knew it. For his part, he probably knew I knew he knew it.

He did not look happy.

"You are right to be cautious," he said, finally. I couldn't read the expression on his face. "It would be a shame if you died." He said it with no intonation. He could have been talking about the weather.

I had expected another threat, so I didn't know how to react. "Well, I think so too."

Eric looked surprised. Then, he smiled. It gave me whiplash. "Yes," he said, as if he were deciding something to himself. Then, "You would like me to do this for you?"

"I would like you to do this," I corrected. Only Eric could twist me going out on a limb for him into him doing me a favor.

"If I call the witch tonight, you will owe me a night in return."

I knew Eric didn't mean 'night' as in 'date night.' He wanted me to spend an evening working for him gratis. I didn't know where he was getting his logic, but it wasn't planet earth. "Nice try."

Eric smiled. It was obvious that he had taken my 'no' as a 'we'll see.'

He was relentless.

After that, it was all brass tacks.

Once Eric acquiesced to my plan, we brainstormed meeting spots. He suggested a restaurant. I vetoed. It seemed too intimate and I'd stand out like a sore thumb eating alone. I proposed a big shop, like a Lowes or a Wal-Mart. The plan relied on me blending into a crowd and I wanted people around. But once Eric pointed out that the flow of people in and out the door would be so heavy it would be hard to pick out the witch in the first place, let alone keep track of her, I let it go.

We agreed on the food court at the Bossier City mall. It was far enough from Bon Temps that the witch would never draw a connection to me and close enough to Shreveport she could get the impression that Eric hadn't ventured too far from home.

If everything went according to plan, my job would be easy. When the witch showed up, I had to be sure I was close enough to read her thoughts. Since she would be looking for Eric, she would likely be thinking about him. I would try to pick out any tidbits I could. In an ideal world, the witch would be thinking something like, Oh, so and so hired me to turn Eric Northman human for this particular reason and undoing the spell is really easy, all it takes is blah blah blah and so on.

Of course, the world wasn't ideal. Not even close. I'd be lucky to pick one of those elements out of her witch's head and it was more likely that I'd only be able to net clues that we could piece together into a tiny part of the whole.

Out of the trinity of what we didn't know—who sent the witch, why, and how to undo the spell—the so-called "counter spell" seemed most elusive. There was no real reason the witch would be thinking about it, other than to make my life easier, and I knew hoping for that was a dead end.

Eric shared my reservations about the counter spell, which surprised me. He said, and I quote, "That's tomorrow's problem."

I had assumed that Eric would have wanted to devote all his energy to turning himself back as soon as possible, and while that was still a major concern, the arrival of Pam had revealed that some kind of conspiracy was afloat and he was off like a dog with a bone on who had done this to him, and why.

"Bring a pen and paper," he told me. "Write down every name you hear in her head, even if it seems unimportant."

He sounded like a grade school teacher. I wanted to ask if he was interested in my penmanship, but didn't think it would be helpful, so I kept my mouth shut. "Who would hire a witch to turn a vampire human?" he asked.

"Not a vampire." Or, at least, not a smart one. Any bloodsucker with half a brain would want nothing to do with a spell that could make him or her so vulnerable.

Eric nodded. "Yes." He'd thought of that himself already. He ran down a list of alternate possibilities. Witches, the weres, the weasel of a man in the Shreveport BVA, the fairy.

My eyes widened, but luckily Eric was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice.

I wasn't really sure that I had, in fact, heard fairy in his thoughts—because that was ridiculous—and I couldn't confirm it by eavesdropping more, because Eric had moved onto wondering who would take care of the Fangtasia in his absence. He didn't think much of Ginger's math skills.

"Do you have enemies?" I asked, trying to nudge him back towards the fairy issue. "Anyone waiting to target you?" I knew enough about vampires to realize it was sort of a silly question.

"Anyone can be an enemy." Eric smiled and, in case you were wondering, it made his comment even creepier.

He wasn't kidding. Not in the slightest.

It made me feel sorry for him.

* * *

The food court was as empty as the rest of the mall. There were a few teenage couples, a handful of Moms with young kids, and a half dozen sad saps like me, eating alone on New Year's. I'd gotten an 8-piece box of nuggets at the Chick-fil-A and found a corner table where I could sit with my back facing the wall. I felt like Queen of the food court—I could see everyone and had a clear view of who came in or out. At Eric's suggestion, I also took a minute to pick out the emergency exits. There were two, which presumably opened into the parking lot. I'd use those doors in the worst-case scenario, if I had to leave in a hurry. Otherwise, I'd walk back through the mall the way I'd came.

Having gotten the lay of the land, I had nothing to do but wait. I had brought a romance novel. Usually, I'd stick with a mystery, but dead bodies and imperiled detectives felt too stressful—and, honestly, too familiar—after the 24-hours I'd just had.

This romance was set in New York City and featured a lady reporter who fell in love with the son of a mafia don. I thought she was bit of a ninny hanging out with him, but he gave her diamonds and called her 'Principessa.' The deluxe treatment helped convince her to turn off her brain and activate other parts of her anatomy.

I read a whole chapter. Carmelo took Fiona to a restaurant at the top of a skyscraper.

Meanwhile, I was stuck in the food court.

So this was an exciting plan, right? Lots of danger?

If I was lucky, no. I hope the witch would arrive, look for Eric while I read her mind, then realize he'd stood her up and leave, allowing me to do the same. Then Eric and Pam, who were waiting in the parking lot, could pick me up and take me home.

The plan was easy peasy.

What could go wrong?

Well, for starters, I didn't know what the witch looked like.

As far as a description, the vamps hadn't given me much to go on. "She is tall, with short hair," Pam said.

To which Eric added, "You will know her when you see her."

I hadn't thought much of that description when he said it, but right then, one of the exit doors opened, the witch walked in, and I realized that Eric had been absolutely right.

She was, as Pam had said, tall. Her hair was cropped close to her scalp, almost like a man's. Gran would have called it a "city style," but a lot of people in Bon Temps wouldn't have been that polite. We don't get a lot of edgy hairdos in our neck of the woods, so she immediately stood out. Her demeanor set her apart even more. She had an aura, for lack of a better word. I could tell just by looking at her that she had major power and she was not to be messed with.

The witch scanned the crowd, presumably for Eric. She looked over in my general direction—not at me, thank goodness—and took a few steps closer.

As she approached, I realized she was a were, which the vampires had either forgotten to mention, or figured it wasn't important. I thought it was pretty damn vital, and a stroke of luck on our part. Even though it would make her harder to read, she might have links to the Shreveport pack. I made a mental note to call Alcide in the morning to find out what he knew.

As far as finding out what the witch knew, I wasn't getting anywhere sitting in my corner. I was about fifteen feet away from her—too close for comfort, but too far for my telepathy.

The witch was standing smack-dab in the middle of the food court, arms crossed, obviously waiting.

Luckily for me, she had parked herself about five or so feet from a garbage can. It was a good cover. I shut my box of nuggets, picked up my tray, and went to throw away the trash.

En route to the garbage, I didn't look at the witch. I didn't want to call attention to myself. I did, however, reach for her mind.

Nothing.

I reached again.

Still nothing.

She wasn't a blank, like a vampire. I could tell something was there. The best way I can describe trying to read her mind was that it was like climbing a glass wall. There was literally nothing to grab hold of.

I was a little shaken. No one had ever kept me out before.

By now, I'd reached the trashcan. I tipped my nuggets inside, dropped my shields and turned all of my energy at the witch.

This time I caught a thought.

Who's there?

I don't know how it was even possible, but her thought pursued me, trying to catch me, grab hold like a little fish hook.

I pulled out of her head. My heart was pounding.

The witch knew I was listening in.

She froze, then turned, and looked straight at me.

I try not to curse, but right then, I might have let a four-letter word slip.

The witch was looking at me. There was no doubt about it. Her mind was still impenetrable, but I knew one thing. She was aware I had been trying to read her mind.

The witch started to walk towards me.

I put my tray on top of the garbage can and began to walk in the other direction. Stay cool, I told myself. But when I glanced over my shoulder and saw her quicken her pace, I knew there wasn't any point in pretending. She knew what was going on.

I aimed for the exit doors, but before I could even get close, a burly man stood up from one of the tables, blocking my path. I had no idea who he was, but he looked like the witch, tall with dark hair, and had the same sort of don't-mess-with-me vibe going on. I didn't want to make his acquaintance.

I turned around. The witch was behind me. To my left was her hired gun. But in front of me was a long line of shops, starting with Claire's.

I'd have to go through the mall.

I started to walk fast. The witch was doing the same. She was really tall and all I could think about how her stride must be double mine. Before I knew it, I was running. I whipped past a gaggle of teenage girls. They stared after me. So much for incognito.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and thumbed to Eric's number.

Pam answered. Why, I had no idea. "Sookie?"

"She saw me," I said.

"What did you do?"

The last thing I wanted was to play the blame game. "Nothing. Look, meet me at the exit—"

"Which exit?"

I didn't have time for this. "Which one are you near?"

"We can move. We have the car. I think it matters more where you—"

I stopped listening.

The witch was standing right in front of me. Somehow, she'd managed to both overtake me and head me off at the pass, without me noticing.

Great.

Over the witch's shoulder was the sign for Regal Cinemas. A Series of Unfortunate Events was playing.

Again, great.

"Sookie?" Pam asked.

"Movie theaters," I said, and hung up the phone.

The witch stared at me. I looked back at her. She was very tall. If she were trying to intimidate me, it was working.

"Who are you?" the witch asked.

I said the first thing that popped into my head, which ended up being, "You walk quickly."

I never got to find out how the witch took the compliment, because an old friend popped up beside us, brandishing his bottle of perfume. "Free sample, beautiful?"

As the vendor leaned in to spray me, I said, "Sorry," kicked him you-know-where, grabbed the perfume bottle, and squirted it the witch's face.

Aim for the eyes, is what Gran had always told me. She'd meant it more for drunk Merlotte's patrons who didn't understand no, not witches with the hots for my vampire houseguest, but the principle still applied.

As I ran away, I heard the witch cuss.

"Hey," someone yelled behind me. "That woman attacked my sister."

It was the burly man from the food court. So, the witch had a brother. I tucked that away as useful information for some later date. Right now, I cared not at all. All I wanted was to get out of this mall.

I looked around for any way out. The witch's brother was behind me—coming from the direction of the food court. In front of me were the movies. People were lining up. I guessed they didn't have enough Unfortunate Events in their own lives so they had to see it on the big screen. Lucky them.

Movie theaters were dark and, critically, movie theaters had exits. I had also told Pam, 'movie theater' so it seemed like the only way to go. My only problem was time. I couldn't wait in line unless I wanted to find myself caught.

People stared at me, and the witch's brother was close behind. I couldn't bother with the ticket queue. The theater proper was blocked off from the rest of the mall by a series of stanchions and velvet ropes. I stared at it, took a deep breath, and jumped the barrier.

"Hey!" an employee yelled. I kept running, but a crash made me glance over my shoulder. It was the witch's brother. He'd tried to jump the stanchions after me and knocked them over. Theater employees converged on him. I didn't wait to see what happened.

I ducked into the first theater I saw. I didn't catch the movie's title, but it was a big action film with lots of screaming, grinding metal, and the earth being destroyed. It fit well with my mental state. Unfortunately, the theater was also packed. People stared as I raced down the aisle towards the sign blinking EXIT, adjacent to the screen.

I was reaching for the door handle, almost free, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned around. It was the witch's brother.

How he moved so fast, I'll never know.

How I moved so fast, I won't know either, because one second he had me and the next I'd reached into my purse and pulled out the gun Pam had given me. I didn't really plan it out. I was grasping for any way out.

I wasn't prepared to shoot him, but he didn't know that, and his eyes widened as I held the gun at him. "Let me go," I said.

He took a step away from me.

It was the opening I needed. Without waiting for his reply, I burst through the exit door, into the light of the lot.

I looked around. My car—with Eric and Pam—were nowhere to be seen. I stuffed the gun back in my purse before someone saw me and arrested me for firearm possession. I couldn't believe I had pulled a gun in a crowded theater. My only hope was that it was dark enough no one could identify me. Otherwise, I was definitely going to jail.

Behind me, the exit door creaked open. It was the witch's brother. I slammed the door shut, catching his arm. "I'll shoot," I said.

His voice was muffled by the door, but I got the meaning. "You would have done it already."

He was right.

I opened the door a crack and slammed it back again, trying to jam him back into the theater. It only half worked. I could feel him pressing back against the door. It was inching open. He was stronger than me. I couldn't block it all night and I didn't have anything to bolt it with, so I just accepted the inevitable, let go and ran.

Where the hell were Eric and Pam?

I scanned the rows of cars. Each looked as anonymous as the next. My Malibu was nowhere to be seen.

Somewhere far away, I heard a car alarm.

I also heard the exit door opening. Heard feet hitting the pavement.

The witch's brother.

I thought about grabbing the gun. Shooting at the ground a few times, trying to scare him off, but by the time it took me to stop and turn he'd be on me. Plus, the sound of the bullets would bring the police, if they weren't after me already.

I'd played softball in high school. I could run short distances, but I was out of practice, and I could already feel the stitch in my side. I needed help. I needed Eric to pull his weight. I couldn't keep this up much longer.

As I ran towards the corner of the mall, I caught a thought.

_Duck._

I crouched low as I rounded the corner. I'd been running so fast I kind of tripped over myself and rolled a few times, finally tumbling over the curb to land on the asphalt.

I sat up just in time to see Eric, who had been waiting behind the corner, swing a metal baseball bat and clock the witch's brother full in the face.

The man was big enough it didn't fell him. He stopped, stunned. He took one look at Eric, bat raised, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Literally. A puff of smoke.

It was straight out of I Dream of Jeannie.

"Thanks." I was so winded I could barely get the words out.

"He saw me," Eric said. He was wondering whether or not to pursue. How to even pursue.

"Don't," I said. Eric looked at me, sharp. Shit. I'd responded to his thoughts. I didn't have time to apologize. "The witch is in there. We have to go." I wasn't going to let Eric risk his life when people were popping in and out of thin air.

Luckily, Eric saw reason. Or he just didn't know how to chase someone who could vanish into nothingness. He came straight to me, dropping his bat. "Where did you get that?"

"Free parking." He nodded at the rows of cars nearby. A minivan with a Little League bumper sticker stood under the nearest streetlight. It was the source of the car alarm I'd heard. The back window was broken.

Before I had time to tell Eric that stealing was wrong, he said, "You are bleeding."

I looked down and realized I had skinned my knee.

The way Eric was looking at my cut creeped me out. While it wasn't quite fascination, it was definitely intense interest.

It was hard to believe he was technically human.

"Stop it," I said.

Screeching tires spared me from his reply. I looked up to see Pam arriving in my Malibu. Eric picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, which was fortunate because he could run a lot faster than I could.

Pam raced my Malibu over to meet us, undoubtedly driving it faster than it had ever been driven before. The poor thing was rattling.

"Don't kill my car," I said.

"Better the car than you," Eric said as he threw open the door and dumped me in the back seat. Pam scooted over to shotgun and let him take the wheel.

Eric gunned it out of the lot, driving even faster than Pam had. I gripped the arm of the car and struggled to find my seatbelt.

He ran a red light as we barreled out of the lot. Vampire driving. "A car crash will stick nowadays," I said, through clenched teeth.

Eric acted like he didn't hear me.

I didn't have time to do any more backseat driving, because Pam turned around to look at me. "What happened?"

There was no reason to beat around the bush. "The witch knew I was reading her mind."

Eric and Pam looked at each other. "How?" he asked, taking a curve about 20 miles faster than he should have.

"I don't know." I tried to keep my voice even, but a scream was fighting to get out. "Stop driving like a maniac."

"Who was the man?" Pam asked.

"The witch's brother," I said. "Oh, and I assaulted her in the middle of the mall and pulled your gun, so now I think the police are after me."

Eric stepped on the gas.

And then, out of nowhere, the witch dropped out of the sky. She could fly.

She didn't even need a broomstick.

"Shit," said Pam as the witch landed on the road right in front of us.

The witch straightened and, as if she were some weird, supernatural crossing guard, extended her hand, palm up, to make the universal sign for stop.


	7. Joyride

The witch dropped out of the sky and landed on the road right in front of us. I think it was supposed to be a dramatic entrance, but she should have timed it better because without vampire reflexes, Eric's reaction was as slow as any human's.

Meaning—he didn't have time to swerve.

We hit her straight on. She crumpled. There was a thud. Then another as we drove over her with our back tires.

Eric stopped the car.

"Keep driving," Pam said.

"Stay inside," Eric said, and got out himself.

My instincts screamed 'run,' but I stopped short of calling him back. Gran hadn't raised me to be the type of person who would hit and run. But neither had she raised an idiot.

I cranked down my window and called, "Eric." When he turned, I offered him Pam's handgun. I didn't know if it would do much good, but it sure felt better than nothing.

Eric eyed the gun like he didn't know what to make of it. It might have been the first time in 1000 years that he'd needed a weapon other than his own hands. I was afraid he'd refuse the gun on account of some idiot pride, but he took it.

Nodded his thanks.

I crawled to the back window and watched Eric approach the witch. She lay ten feet beyond the car. Her body was a hump on the smooth surface of the road.

Eric knelt next to her.

When he touched her, I knew.

Even in the darkness, I could see the color drain from Pam's face.

Eric walked back to the car.

"She's dead." He seemed remarkably calm. Pam rolled down the driver's side window.

I was a mess of feelings— relief we weren't going to be killed, revulsion we'd killed instead. I was also pretty scared. The witch's death hadn't broken the spell. With her gone, who could undo it?

If no one could— if Eric and Pam found themselves permanently human— I doubted they'd live long. As soon as a vampire found out about them, they were as good as dead. They posed too great a risk. What if the curse became public? Imagine how groups like the Fellowship would react if they discovered vampires could become human.

Eric and Pam posed a threat to other vampires simply by existing. They were living, breathing proof a that curse could strip the undead of their powers.

This was not a message most vampires were interested in hearing. Everything I'd seen about vampires made me to believe they'd rather eliminate the evidence than extend a helping hand.

Louisiana was teeming with undead and, ungoverned, Area 5 stuck out like a sore thumb. My guess was that Eric and Pam could stay under the radar for a few days, but not much more.

I didn't want to think about what that meant for my own safety.

Pam was visibly upset. "She's finally dead?"

Eric said nothing. There was no other kind of dead when it came to non-vampires.

"Now what?" Pam's voice was too loud.

"Quiet." Eric said.

Pam's lips tightened into an unhappy line. She got out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

Eric followed. I shrank into the back seat, trying to avoid any shrapnel.

I watched Eric approach Pam. She'd wrapped her arms around the witch's torso. She was trying to lift her, with little success. A few days ago, she wouldn't have broken a sweat.

Without a word, Eric picked up the witch's feet.

Pam barely acknowledged him. I watched as they shoved her body into the trunk of my Malibu. I felt sick and afraid all at once.

I could have tried to stop them. I could have asked them to put her on the road.

But I didn't.

What else could we do? Go to the police?

If only life were that easy. The correct channels were a luxury we couldn't afford.

I pushed my guilt to the side. I'd think about it later. Now, there wasn't time. We weren't far from the mall. Somebody could drive by any second.

Pam and Eric got back in the car. Pam slammed her door a little too hard. They sat for a second, in silence, not looking at each other.

"Where are you taking her?" I asked, mostly to get them talking to each other.

"It's better if you don't know." Eric stuck the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. "I'll drop you at your home."

I was grateful he had decided to keep me out of it. On the other hand, it wasn't as if I had much experience when it came to our current body disposal problem. "Okay."

As we started off down the road, at a much slower pace, Eric said, "You should report your car stolen. Just in case."

I saw the wisdom in his suggestion, but, "I need it to get around." Bon Temps might be a small town, but it wasn't walkable, and I could hardly call my brother or Sam for rides with Eric staying in my spare bedroom.

"We'll leave the car off the highway," he said. "Stage a joyride. It will be returned to you."

I nodded. I didn't like it, but it seemed like the best outcome I could expect. What if someone had seen my car and called it in? Better to file a fake robbery and give myself an alibi, however slapdash.

Silence fell.

Pam broke it. "We're still human."

"I'm aware." Eric's voice lacked inflection. He was furious—but he ran cold, while Pam was hot.

"We were supposed to kidnap the witch. Only kill her if that breaks the spell."

"Obviously," Eric said, even though there was nothing obvious about this situation, "we will find another witch."

Pam looked at him. "In your thousand years, how many witches have you found who can turn a vampire human?"

I waited for Eric to strike back, but he must have agreed, because he didn't say a word.

Silence fell.

Eric's phone rang. He took his eyes off the road to check the display. I was working to tune out his thoughts, but I felt them flare up, press against my shields. He was upset.

"It's the Queen," he told Pam.

Jesus.

"Answer." There was real fear in Pam's voice. "Or she'll send someone."

Eric grit his teeth and flipped the phone open. "Eric."

I don't think Pam so much as blinked. Her eyes were glued to him.

"Yes, your majesty," he said. Then, "Tomorrow?"

There was another pause, and Eric said, "I have a prior engagement—"

He trailed off. I couldn't hear what the Queen was saying, but I heard a voice rise. She wasn't pleased.

"Tomorrow," Eric said, as if he were sentenced to death, and shut the phone.

"She wants me in New Orleans tomorrow," he told us. "I must leave if I'm going to make it before sunrise."

Sunrise didn't matter anymore. New Orleans was five hours away. Eric could leave at high noon, if he desired and make it before nightfall. Especially with the way he drove.

"What does she want?" I'd overstepped in asking. Pam glared at me, but Eric was feeling glum enough to answer.

"I don't know."

"Could she have found out?"

"No," Eric said, too quickly. Wishful thinking.

"You can't see her like this," Pam stated the obvious. If Eric saw the Queen human, he'd be killed.

Eric looked miserable. "And if I disobey, she'll send Andre."

"Fake your death," Pam said. If that was the alternative to this Andre, he must be terrible. "Or better yet, break the curse." The comment was pointed. Almost nasty.

Eric looked fed up, but to his credit, he kept quiet rather than counterpunch.

Another ringtone broke the silence. I looked at Eric, but when he and Pam glanced towards me, I realized it was coming from my phone. I hadn't had a cell for very long. I was still getting used to it. I fished my phone out of my purse and checked the display. Jason.

"Now's not a good time," I said, as I flipped it open.

"It ain't for me either." Jason sounded pissed. "Guess who's got my phone ringing off the hook?" I didn't have the slightest idea, but it didn't matter, because Jason pressed on, without leaving me space to answer. "I don't blame you for hanging up on Hadley, but now she's all up on me, begging for a place to stay." He made it sound like it was my fault.

Hadley's call seemed like a world ago. "I didn't hang up on her." Not exactly.

"Whatever." Jason clearly didn't believe me. "I said she could crash at your place."

My heart stopped. I looked at Eric and Pam in the front seat. "Now's not a good time."

"Look, Sook," Jason said. "She can't stay here. I'm hanging out with this new girl. I don't need Hadley mucking it up."

My vampire crisis trumped Jason's love life. Especially since there was a chance Eric or Pam would kill Hadley on sight. I might be annoyed at my no-account cousin's timing, but I didn't want her dead.

"Jason, I can't." I said. "I have house guests."

He didn't try to hide his surprise. "No way. Who?"

I fumbled for an excuse. "Friends of Bill's."

"I thought you broke up."

It had been a few weeks, but hearing it aloud still stung. "We did." I shoved my feelings back in their box. "I'm doing him a favor."

"In that case, what's one more?"

I tried to think of an explanation other than Bill's friends kill on sight. "They're real particular."

It sounded lame, even to me.

"Look," Jason said, "I don't care if you take Hadley. I'm just giving you a heads up."

"She must be in some kind of trouble." If she were so desperate to come home, chances, she probably wanted to lay low. Maybe she'd pissed off the wrong dealer.

"She didn't say." Jason could care less.

"Well, she wouldn't have." Not if she wanted us to let her into our homes.

"Hey, Crystal just pulled in. I got to go." Without waiting for my reply, Jason hung up. Even though he hadn't taken the time to enlighten me as to who 'Crystal' was, I figured she had to be his new girlfriend.

Eric and Pam watched at me. "Is there a problem?" Eric said.

"Not yet." I hoped there wouldn't be. "Family stuff." When I looked back at my phone, a thought occurred to me. "Hold on one sec."

I thumbed a few buttons on the phone to call Jason back. He answered on the second ring. "This better be quick."

I could hear giggling on his end of the line. Crystal moved fast.

"Do you have Hadley's number?" I wanted to call and tell her not to come. Try to head this mess off at the pass.

"No."

I couldn't believe him. "You didn't ask?"

"Nope." It obviously hadn't occurred to him until I mentioned it.

It was all I could do to stop myself from hanging up on him.

In the background, I could hear Crystal's voice. "Hey, Sook, I gotta go. Say hi to Hadley for me."

The line went dead.

I loved my brother, but some days I just wanted to smack the fool right out of him.

Eric and Pam stared at me, expectant. I couldn't think of anything to tell them but the truth. "My cousin wants a place to stay."

They looked at each other. "Enough people know about us as it is," Pam said.

'Enough' meant me.

"Look," I said. "She might show up at the house. I'll find her another place, but she's harmless, so I don't want you two—"

I trailed off when Eric caught my eyes in the rear view mirror. His face was blank, which was never a good sign. "You don't want what?"

It might not have been a direct threat, but it sure felt that way.

I worked to keep my voice even. "Let me handle her. Please."

Eric and Pam looked at each other, then fell quiet. Pam looked out the window. Eric kept his eyes on the road. I figured their silence was as close to a 'yes' as I could expect.

* * *

We drove the rest of the way to Bon Temps in silence. I ran over the events of the last hour—trying to find anything that might help us climb out of the sinkhole we'd fallen into. I had barely believed it when the witch had dropped out of the sky. It was as if she had come straight out of Superman.

In fact, outside of the movies, I had only seen one other person fly.

And he was sitting in the front seat.

"Could you always fly?" I asked Eric, as we turned onto Hummingbird Road. "I mean, could you as soon as you were turned?

He looked at me, surprised. "It happened over time."

"Have you ever seen a person fly? Other than the witch." I hadn't, but there were a lot of things beyond my experience. I'd never seen the ocean, for instance, but I didn't doubt its existence.

"Not in a thousand years." Eric was quiet for a second. "What are you suggesting, Sookie?"

I shrugged. I wasn't suggesting anything yet. I felt like I was trying to work through a puzzle. Eric could fly. The witch could also fly. But what if those facts weren't separate? Maybe the witch could fly because Eric could fly? What if the spell hadn't just turned Eric human? What if it had worked both ways—taken something from Eric and given it to the witch?

Did that make any sense? I had no way of knowing. We had to learn the parameters of the spell. Unfortunately, there was only one person who could have enlightened us and she was in the trunk of my Malibu.

"We need to find another witch," I said.

"Yes." Eric was staring at me. As I looked back at him, I could hear my heart beating. I didn't know if it was fear, or something else. Something I didn't have time for right now. "But where?"

With that, he pulled into my driveway. As we rounded the corner, my jaw dropped. There was a limousine parked outside my house.

"Are you expecting guests?" Pam asked.

When I shook my head no, Eric slowed my Malibu.

It was too late. The chauffeur's door opened. A slim figure emerged.

We were twenty feet away and it was dark, but I knew my cousin Hadley in an instant.


	8. Homecoming

The limousine door opened. A slim figure emerged.

We were twenty feet away and it was dark, but I knew my cousin Hadley in an instant.

As one, Eric and Pam tensed. Pam grabbed her pistol.

"Stop," I said, before she could pull a Lee Harvey Oswald. "That's my cousin."

Pam raised an eyebrow. "Your cousin? In a limousine?"

I tried not to get offended and failed miserably. My family might not be fancy, but that didn't make us incapable of riding around in limos, if we so desired.

Pam must have realized she'd overstepped, because she backed off with, "Who drives a limousine anyway?"

Coming from her, that was practically an apology.

Eric stared straight ahead, acting as if he hadn't heard us, but I saw the smallest of smirks cross his face.

I'd never say it out loud, but I agreed with Pam. Who drove a limo? Personally, I thought they were a waste of good money. If you wanted to announce your presence, save your cash and buy yourself a bullhorn.

Maybe I'd misjudged the situation. Maybe Hadley wasn't in trouble. If I had to skip town, I'd pick the most unobtrusive car I could find. A limo would be the last on my list. Actually—next to last. Last would be a double-decker bus with a picture of my own face plastered to the side. Hadley, however, liked making a splash.

Hadley was staring at our car, curious. She was too far away to see inside and she didn't seem to want to approach, but I wasn't sure how long her reluctance would last. I had to face her, but Eric and Pam didn't. In fact, Eric and Pam shouldn't.

"It will be easier if she doesn't see you," I said.

Eric nodded. "We'll take care of the witch. You deal with her. We'll be back in an hour."

An hour didn't give me a lot of time to get rid of Hadley. "Fine. But if you see the limo outside you'll know it's taking longer." When Hadley wanted something she was like a dog with a bone. On one level, her determination was admirable. But it could make my life very difficult.

"We'll be back in an hour," Eric repeated—speaking of difficult.

I didn't have the energy to get into it with him, so I just nodded and got out of the car. I watched as he pulled away. Soon, his headlights were pinpricks in the darkness.

I had a whole hour without the ex-vamps, as I had privately decided to call them (somehow, I didn't think Eric and Pam would get as much amusement out of the nickname as I did). A whole hour without supervision.

Unwittingly, Eric had given me an opening. I could jump in Hadley's car and ask her to drive me as far and as fast as the wheels would take us. As soon as the fantasy ran through my head, I knew it wouldn't work. With my luck, Hadley and I would end up more like Thelma and Louise than free birds.

And, if I was being really honest with myself, I knew I couldn't leave Eric and Pam. Without me, they had no one but themselves. Fear of discovery would keep them isolated. Without help, and with the Queen's summons hanging over them, they'd be dead within the week.

I couldn't let that happen. Not if there was anything I could do to stop it. No matter how much I might want to get away.

The thought of Eric or Pam dying turned my stomach. When they weren't threatening me or shuttling me between life-threatening situations, I almost liked them. Well, maybe 'like' was strong. I enjoyed their company. Eric had a good sense of humor and I'd ogle him more often if I didn't think it would inflate his head to the point of bursting. Pam was, well, Pam.

But even if they'd rubbed me the wrong way 24-7, I couldn't abandon them. They'd never put it this way, but they were counting on me. I'd be just about the worst person in the universe if I left them hanging.

Eric trusted me enough to leave me by myself, knowing his secret. I realized, in a way, I trusted him too. Hadn't he come through for me at the mall? We'd been in the parking lot, it hadn't been full dark, and someone might have seen him. Of course, Eric might not have been trying to safeguard me personally as much as the information he thought I had.

I watched his headlights disappear around a bend.

Eric never had a single reason for doing anything.

I sighed.

I had an hour.

I turned around. Hadley hovered next to the limo. She was staring straight at me, but she hadn't moved or called out, so I wondered if she knew who I was. The last time she'd seen me, I'd been in the eight grade.

I raised a hand. Waved. "Hadley."

She yelped—honestly yelped—and started sprinting towards me, arms outstretched. I braced myself for the inevitable hug. It took ten seconds, then Hadley was on top of me. She threw her arms around my neck and squeezed me tight enough to cut off air. "I thought it was you. God, you're so grown up."

Hadley had never been overly affectionate, especially as we got older, but I went with it and hugged her back. She was squeezing me so tight I could hear her heart beating. She was squeezing me like she thought she'd never see another person again. That—combined with the chorus of thank god, thank god, I was getting from her thoughts—told me she was in trouble, probably deeper trouble than I'd let myself imagine.

"Who was that in the car?" she asked, when I managed to wriggle free.

"Friends," was easier than the truth. "Where'd you get the limo?"

"Friends," she said.

So that's how we were going to play it.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

I nodded at the house. "You hungry?"

"God, yes." Hadley grinned and we were back on track. "I don't know how long it's been since I've eaten."

She said it like she meant it. Like, really meant it. Like she was ravenous. I looked her up and down. I hoped that wasn't junkie talk. I didn't think so; Hadley looked healthy. She was slim, sure, but not skin and bones. Her eyes were clear and her hair was sleek, kind of Hollywood-looking. She'd obviously had it styled and it looked like it had cost some money.

"Come on in," I said. "I'll fix you something." As I started towards the house, Hadley fell into step behind me.

When we passed the limo, I couldn't help wondering how Hadley got it. My bet—and I would never say anything like this to Pam—was that she'd taken up with a wealthy client. It was no secret among the family that Hadley had chosen to make her living on her back, but that didn't feel right to discuss with Pam, Eric, or anyone outside the family circle.

"I heard about Gran," Hadley said, as soon as we stepped into the house. My back stiffened. Hadley had loved Gran, in her way, but she'd also caused her a lot of heartache. The last thing I wanted to do was reopen old wounds. Hadley, of course, had missed Gran's funeral.

As if she were reading my mind, she said, "I wanted to come to the funeral. I really did. But it was a tough time in my life. I'd been through a lot of… transitions and, honestly, I didn't know if I'd be welcome. Last time I'd talked to Jason he made it pretty clear he didn't want to see me." Her voice wavered, as if she were about to cry. "And I don't know if Gran ever forgave me or if she would have even wanted me there."

It was ridiculous for her to think that her own grandmother wouldn't want her at her funeral. Gran was a kindhearted woman and if Hadley had given it a moment's thought she would have known the answer.

I couldn't listen to her talk about what Gran would or would not have wanted, so I cut her off.

"Hadley. It's okay."

It wasn't. Not entirely. But Gran had loved Hadley, in spite of everything, and she wouldn't want her shown the cold shoulder.

That seemed to be what Hadley needed to hear. She threw her arms around me a second time. Of course, with the hug came with the waterworks I'd been trying to avoid.

I hugged her back. I don't believe in giving people a free pass, but it was clear that Hadley regretted her choices. I had nothing to gain from making her feel worse. And Gran would have wanted me to forgive her.

"I knew I could count on you," Hadley said, through sobs.

With the hug, came her thoughts. A mix of guilt, fear, and urgency overwhelmed me. Hadley definitely wanted something. It dampened the reunion.

I managed to pat her on the back before extracting myself.

We stared at each other. Neither of us knew what to say. We might be family, but we were practically strangers.

Hadley was thinking about how to ask if she could stay in my home. "Come on," I said, "let's get some food." It was best to have that uncomfortable conversation when we were sitting down.

At the mention of food, Hadley's smiled. Wide. It was kind of strange. I opened the door and she actually beat me to the kitchen. When I caught up with her, she had her head in the fridge.

"Bless you, Sookie, you've got bacon," she said, pulling my package off the shelf and tossing it onto the counter. "I haven't had this in years." Her eyes lit up. "Do you have ice cream?" Hadley threw open the freezer.

Within seconds, she'd found a spoon, seated herself on the counter, and was digging into my private stash of Rocky Road.

This definitely wasn't normal behavior. Hadley didn't seem high, but I wasn't counting it out. When she said she hadn't eaten in days, maybe she'd meant it literally. "You weren't kidding about being hungry." I got eggs out of the fridge to fry up with the bacon.

"I'm on this special diet," Hadley said, ice cream spoon half in her mouth. "Keeps me looking like this," she nodded at herself. I eyed her trim waist and tried not to feel envious. "But there's nothing like real food." Hadley took another bite of ice cream and almost moaned. "Goddamn, Sookie, this is so good. I'd almost forgotten."

I smiled at her, mostly because I didn't trust myself to speak. Maybe Hadley was actually high.

"You have any beer?" she asked.

"Um, no." I don't drink very much. I see enough of it at the bar. But even if I'd had beer in the house, I wouldn't have given it to her. Hadley wasn't going to be happy when I told her she couldn't stay and I didn't want to make that conversation more difficult that it would be already.

She looked disappointed. "Oh. Okay. Ice cream's fine then."

I bit my tongue and switched on the burner to warm up Gran's skillet.

Again, Hadley was wondering how to ask if she could stay in my house. The ice cream seemed to have elevated her mood as high as it could go, so I decided to cut to the chase. "Hadley, Jason mentioned you wanted to stay here with me, but—"

"Well, it's not just me," she said, taking me aback. "I have these friends and we just wanted to take a trip, you know, out of New Orleans. Like a mini-vacation. So I decided to show them where I'm from."

I just looked at her. A mini-vacation?

Either Hadley thought I was an idiot, or she was not very smart herself.

She must have seen something on my face, because she backpedaled. "Normally I'd ask Jason, but we had a fight a few years back, and I'm still kind of pissed at him. And anyway, when we talked, he seemed real busy—"

"Hadley." I cut her off before she worked herself into a lather. "It's great to see you, but now's not the best time."

Her face fell. "Really? Why?"

"I have friends staying here." I wished I could think of a better way to describe Eric and Pam. I sounded selfish turning away family in favor of friends. But there was no helping it. "I'm full up." I felt guilty turning away family, but I reminded myself it was for Hadley's own good. Plus, she was still lying to me. "I'm sorry."

"I like to party." There was a desperate edge in Hadley's voice. "The more the better. Tell me about your friends. They from around here?" That felt a little like a dig. Like I wouldn't have friends from Bon Temps.

"They're from here." I wasn't going to dignify her with anything else.

Hadley was quiet for a second. I could see her wheels turning. Then she smiled at me. "Sookie, I haven't seen you in years." She made it sound like she'd really missed me, too. "This could be good for us."

Actually, it would be bad for us. Really bad. Possibly fatally bad. I couldn't let my druggie, loud-mouthed cousin, and her friends—god knows who they were—end up under the same roof as two ex-vampires. It wouldn't end well for anyone. "Hadley, I'm sorry."

For a second, she looked mad. But she covered it with another smile. "I feel like I barely know you. This is our chance." When I didn't say anything, she turned the screw. "It's what Gran would have wanted."

Now that just pissed me off.

Manipulating me was one thing, but using Gran was a step too far.

"Hadley, how about you tell me what's really going on?" I said.

Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then put-on innocence. "What do you mean?"

"Look," I said. "I'd like to help you. You can't stay here, but I'd try to find you a place." If Jason continued to be unreasonable, maybe I could ask Tara or Sam. "But I don't want to put one of my friends in danger if you're going to keep lying."

Hadley was the picture of innocence. "I'm family, Sookie. I wouldn't lie to you."

I was almost frustrated enough to tear my own hair out. "Stop. You know I know."

It was the closest we'd ever gotten to discussing my telepathy. Like Hadley's profession, it was one of those unspoken family secrets.

Her mouth opened. Outrage. "You're listening to me?"

I just looked at her. Hadley wasn't a broadcaster, but I could catch hold of her thoughts easily. I hated to eavesdrop in general and on family in particular, but I wouldn't let myself be manipulated.

Right now, she was thinking about her friends. How mad they'd be. She was actually frightened.

It made me feel sorry for her. "Hadley, just tell me the truth. I want to help."

She sank to a seat on the table and covered her face with her hands.

I sat across from her. "What happened? Did you steal something? Piss off a dealer?" When she didn't say anything, I took her hand. Her thoughts filled my head.

_Please just help, goddamnit. I want your help, I need your help—_

She yanked her hand out of mine. Stared at me for a second, then said, "My ex-husband's trying to kill me."

I hadn't seen that one coming. "I didn't know you were married."

"I didn't want to tell you. Didn't think you'd approve."

I didn't get it. "Of your marriage?"

"Of my divorce," she said. "Oh don't give me that look, Sookie. You've always been so goody two-shoes."

Not lately.

"He's mad because you left him?"

"Not exactly." Hadley sat back in her chair. She seemed to be gearing up for something big. "I'm a lesbian."

It took me a second to register what she said. Then all I could do was repeat it, like an idiot, "A lesbian?"

And I had thought the husband was a surprise.

"I loved Remy. At least I thought I did." Hadley wasn't meeting my eyes. "But when I met my girlfriend I realized a whole part of my life had been missing and I hadn't even known it." By the way she was half-smiling, unconscious to it, I knew she was telling me the truth. "He couldn't take me leaving him for a woman. He's been stalking us. We thought we'd get out of town for a while, let him cool down. Bon Temps seemed pretty remote. No offense."

"We?" I said. "You're with your girlfriend?"

"She's coming tomorrow morning," Hadley said. "Thank god. I don't think I could do this on my own."

Hadley's relief was genuine. I could tell, just by looking at her, that she cared for her girlfriend, whoever she was.

The story was so bizarre it had to be the truth. Plus I didn't think Hadley, always so concerned with appearances, would admit to being different and make herself vulnerable, unless it was the truth.

She met my eyes. "Sookie, do you hate me?" Her thoughts were tinged with fear and shame. She remembered me going to church every Sunday. She was honestly afraid I might turn her out.

"No," I said, and meant it.

It meant a lot to me that she'd told me the truth. In some ways, I felt like the gulf between us had narrowed, just a little bit.

I wanted to dignify Hadley's confession with one of my own. "I haven't been completely honest with you either."

She was immediately suspicious. "What?"

Eric would kill me if he knew what I was about it say, but my cousin had just spilled her guts to me and I couldn't bring myself to turn around and lie to her face. "You should stay with Jason. I'm in a little bit of trouble, nothing to worry about, but I don't want you getting dragged into it."

"What kind of trouble?" Hadley suddenly looked hard. Capable. It was a weird shift and alien from the cousin I'd known. I wondered what exactly she'd seen in New Orleans. "Maybe we can help. My girlfriend's in business. She's good at straightening things out."

"It's under control," I lied. I appreciated her offer, but Eric was probably the furthest thing from the kind of problems Hadley's girlfriend usually handled.

"I'm serious, Sookie," Hadley said. "You want help, say the word."

I needed to change the subject before Hadley unwittingly signed herself and her girlfriend up for all-out vampire warfare. "Look, Jason's just being an ass because he's got a new girlfriend. You tell him what you just told me and I'm sure he'd let you stay." He'd probably be tickled pink to have a lesbian couple under his roof. For all the wrong reasons, of course.

"I don't know, Sookie. He was pretty mad on the phone."

"Call me if he gives you trouble." Now was the time for honesty. "I wish I could help you, Hadley. I really do. But it's best for all of us if you give me space to sort this out. At least for now."

Hadley must have been able to tell I was serious, because she nodded. "Okay." Then, she reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "Promise you'll at least meet Sophie. I've told her so much about you."

It was a nice thing to say. So I smiled and said, "Sure thing," even though I had a hard time believing it was actually true, considering how rarely Hadley and I had featured in each other's lives.

After that, I fixed Hadley bacon and eggs, which she ate almost as appreciatively as the ice cream. She told me more about her crazy diet, which was something out of Eastern Europe, all liquid. Apparently it was catching on with a lot of the Hollywood stars. "It's not as bad as you might think," Hadley said, as she took a heaping spoon of eggs. "But it can get kind of monotonous."

When Hadley finished with her dinner, she left for Jason's. She gave me a kiss on the cheek before she went. "It's been good to see you."

"You too." I hugged her and meant it.

* * *

After watching her drive away, I went back inside and checked the clock. I had roughly ten minutes before Eric and Pam were due back. I wanted to take a power nap, and I still had to call the police to report my car stolen, but an idea had popped into my head towards the end of dinner and if I was going to see it through, I had to do it before Eric returned.

I walked into my bedroom, sat on my bed—still littered with the stuff Eric had pulled out of my drawers—and weighed the pros and cons of going behind his back.

The cons were obvious. Eric would be furious once he found out and he would find out.

The pros were more elusive. If I had misjudged the situation, it would mean disaster. But if I were right, I would buy us time.

Right now, time was what we needed about all—we needed time to find a witch, time to break the spell, and time to figure out what the hell was going on. With the Queen breathing down Eric's neck, time was exactly what we didn't have.

If I didn't take this leap, we had no more than a day to fix the situation. The Queen was expecting Eric in New Orleans tomorrow night.

If I took this risk, and it paid off, we might gain a week. Maybe two.

A week made a huge difference. Each extra day upped our survival odds.

That was good enough for me.

In a way, I was doing what Eric couldn't do for himself. Of course, he'd probably rip my head off if I presented it to him that way. Maybe with the benefit of hindsight, he'd thank me. Well, on second thought, probably not. That wasn't really Eric's style.

I dug through my nightstand and fished out a slip of paper. On it was a phone number I'd sworn never to call. So much for that. I'd already broken my New Year's resolution ("stay out of trouble"). What was one more broken promise to myself?

I picked up my bedside phone—thankfully, Pam hadn't had a chance to unplug this one—and started to dial the number. Halfway through, I put the receiver down. Took a deep breath. Steeled myself.

Okay, I was ready.

Eric would be back any second. I couldn't keep stalling.

I picked up the receiver and started dialing again. The phone number was twice as long as normal, but I guess those are the rules of the game when you're calling international. I didn't even want to think about how much long-distance fees would cost. Halfway through, I thought about calling collect, but stopping and starting from scratch was just another way to defer the inevitable. And I was too proud to ring up my ex and then ask him to foot the bill.

The phone rang once. Twice. There was a click.

Rapid Spanish poured into my ear. A woman's voice.

"Um. Hi. Hola," I said.

I didn't want to be rude, but I had no idea what she'd said to me, so I cut to the chase.

"Is Bill Compton around?"


	9. Ambassador

The phone rang once. Twice. There was a click.

Rapid Spanish poured into my ear. A woman's voice.

"Um. Hi. Hola." I didn't want to be rude, but I had no idea what she'd said, so I cut to the chase. "Is Bill Compton around?"

That seemed to do the trick, because there was a click, another ring, and then, suddenly, a voice I recognized. "Hello?"

"Bill?"

"Sookie?"

He sounded surprised. I couldn't blame him. We hadn't parted on good terms.

I wouldn't have called him if I'd had other options.

Silence fell. We'd established that we were in fact talking to each other. Now, I just had to figure out what to say.

I wanted to ask Bill a favor, but first I needed to know if he'd been affected by the curse. I couldn't ask directly, in case someone was listening to the call. Worrying about eavesdroppers made me feel paranoid, but I would rather be paranoid than dead.

I settled on, "How are you?" Under normal circumstances it would have been an inappropriate question. Vampires' health never varied.

There was an awkward pause. Finally, Bill said, "I am the same."

If I hadn't been so exhausted, I might have done a happy dance. Bill was the same. Meaning, he was still dead.

Of course, he could also be lying. What did I expect him to say? Sookie, I'm under the weather—I've come down with a pulse.

Yeah, right.

"Sookie, are you all right?" Bill sounded concerned. He probably figured I'd know better than to ask such an obtuse question. Or maybe he'd picked up on my anxiety. I'd been trying to hide it, but he knew me pretty well.

I took a breath and jumped into the deep end. Actually, it was more like the deep end of the deep end, because if I weren't in the deep end already, I didn't want to know where I was headed. "Look," I said. "I'm sorry to do this, but something terrible has happened and we need you in Louisiana."

Bill was quiet for a moment. "We?"

Shoot. I'd meant to say 'me,' but the plural had slipped out. I didn't want to say Eric's name out loud, so I settled on, "It's a big mess," and hoped that Bill understood I couldn't tell him more over the phone.

There was another long pause. "What kind of mess?"

I didn't say anything. Silence seemed like the only safe way to communicate the magnitude of the current shit storm.

Bill was quiet. I hoped he was thinking. I hated asking him to drop everything without providing a reason. I hated dragging him into this mess period. But we needed help and I didn't have other options. I would have told him more if I could.

"I'll leave tonight," Bill said, finally.

A mix of emotions hit me. I was grateful that Bill was backing me up, relieved we'd have an ally, exhausted at the thought of seeing him again, and, if I was being honest, excited too.

I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. "Thank you."

Whatever problems Bill and I had, he'd come through for me.

"You're welcome," he said.

Silence fell.

"Are you flying Anubis?" It was the best way I could think to triple check if he was still undead. I couldn't imagine that Bill would have agreed to come home if he'd been cursed, but there was no harm in being sure.

Another pause. "Should I not be?"

"No. Anubis is great. Do you need an airport pickup?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. It was a knee-jerk polite thing, but since Eric was currently dumping my car by the side of the highway, I could do squat for Bill if he took me up on my offer.

I was relieved when he said, "I'll have them deliver my coffin to your home."

On second thought, "Better make it yours." I didn't want to surprise Eric and Pam. "We'll talk when you wake up."

"Whatever you say," I could hear the curiosity in Bill's voice. There was more he wanted to ask. There was more I wanted to tell him too, but the phone was not the way to do it.

Bill was quiet for a moment, as if he were thinking. "If there's trouble, you can always go to Eric."

Hm, how to tackle that one?

"Uh, yeah," I said. "He's been appraised."

"Okay."

Silence again.

Hearing Eric's name made me think of a second unreasonable request. I tried to figure out the best way to approach it. "The Queen sent you to Peru, right?" I'd learned to stay away from questions about vampire business, but Bill had told me as much before he left.

"She has taken an interest in my research, yes." He sounded cautious.

"Can you wait to let her know you're home? Until we talk?"

Silence from Bill.

"I don't mean to get in your business. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

If Eric missed his meeting in New Orleans (as he almost certainly would) and the Queen heard Bill was back in Area 5 to clean up 'a mess,' it wouldn't take much for her to put two and two together. I didn't know this woman from Adam, but I figured she hadn't become Queen by not noticing things.

The line was quiet just long enough to make me wonder if Bill had hung up, then he said, "I'll tell her I'm coming home because I miss you."

I didn't know what to say. Something twisted in the pit of my stomach—discomfort and anticipation rolled together. "Tell her whatever you want. But after we talk. In person."

Quiet. Then finally, "All right, Sookie."

Silence. Again.

"If that's all?" Bill said.

"Yes." I felt hamstrung by the phone.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good. Tomorrow." There was another uncomfortable pause, during which I remembered my manners. "Oh, and Bill?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

He was quiet. I imagined him smiling.

"Anytime, Sookie." He hung up.

I placed the phone back in the holder and let out a long sigh.

Talking to Bill had made me feel like crap. When we'd broken up, I'd put my emotions in a nice little box. Now, they were fighting to get out.

But it had to be done.

If anything provoked Eric to murder me, this would be it.

Eric had been clear from the beginning: no vampires. But a vampire was exactly what he needed—specifically a vampire to deal with the Queen. Eric had to find someone to stall her until we broke the curse. He would miss his meeting in New Orleans tomorrow night. There was no way around it. But if Bill went to New Orleans in Eric's place, even a day late, he might be able to buy us time.

I could have tried to find a candidate for "vampire ambassador" closer to home, but since we hadn't heard a peep from any of the other Area 5 vamps, my guess was that they'd fallen prey to the curse and were lying low, thinking they were the only ones affected.

I was beginning to suspect the curse had been geographically focused. We knew for a fact that all four vampires in Fangtasia had turned human and there was no reason to think the spell stopped at the bar's walls. If the curse had been limited to Area 5, say, or to all vampires within a certain radius of Shreveport, then it made sense that Bill, abroad in Peru, was safe. Everything he'd said in our conversation seemed to suggest that was the case.

Say I was wrong, and the other Area 5 vampires were still happily undead? I still didn't want to ask for their help. I didn't trust them. And neither did Eric and Pam, or they would be at one of their homes and not mine.

I might not want to date Bill, but I trusted him. Plus, Eric had saved Bill in Jackson so Bill owed him. He owed both of us, really. I couldn't think of any other vampire who would help Eric, except maybe Eric's maker, but every time I brought up that idea, Eric shut down.

Of course, Eric probably wouldn't see it my way. No vampires, he'd said. He hadn't even wanted to call Pam when he thought he'd been the only ex-vamp. I wasn't looking forward to breaking the news. I hoped calling Bill wasn't a mistake, but I didn't know what else to do. The Queen wasn't going away on her own. Eric needed a vampire go-between like toast needed butter. If Eric didn't accept Bill's help, he'd be toast himself.

A knock on the front door jerked me back to reality. As I walked into the hall, the knock turned into a regular pounding. I felt a stab of fear. An angry guest was just what I needed. What if it was Hadley's psycho ex-husband with a sawed-off shotgun?

As I neared the door, I felt a familiar thought pattern.

I relaxed.

Eric was wondering how to convince me to give him a key.

"It's not happening," I said automatically, as I opened the door, remembering too late that it wasn't wise to respond to things I picked out of his thoughts.

Eric looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "It would be easier for both of us."

I couldn't reply. I was too busy gawking at him. He was covered in mud. His jeans were caked in it. His shirt was smeared with dirt, and something darker. I wondered what it was, then decided I was better off not knowing.

Eric noticed me staring. He smirked.

I frowned. "What?"

"Like what you see?"

I rolled my eyes. I didn't even feel bad about it. "Not really." He was covered in muck and god knew what else. That being said, he seemed to be in a good mood. I hadn't seen Eric's smirk out in full force since he'd turned human. Apparently hiding a body made him feel like his old self.

I didn't want to think about that too closely.

"Whatever you say." He didn't believe me. Then, he pushed past me into the house.

"Eric, stop." I didn't want him tracking mud on my clean floors.

It was like talking to a post, for all the attention I got. He disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Of course, he left a trail of muddy footprints all the way.

Behind me, I heard another door slam. I turned around. Pam was locking Bill's sedan, which she'd parked in my driveway.

"You stole Bill's car?" I said.

"Eric is his Sheriff," Pam said, as if that was any explanation.

Pam started toward the front door. As she got closer, I could see she was as bedraggled as Eric. Pam was wearing one of my dresses. When she'd taken it out of my closet, it had been white. Now it was brown. I'd have a hell of a time getting the stains out.

I opened my mouth to give her a piece of my mind, but Pam's expression made me reconsider. She was the picture of exhaustion. Whatever Eric's pick-me-up had been, it hadn't trickled down to her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," said Pam, but she didn't look it.

I tried a different tack. "Can I get you anything?"

She was quiet for a second. Then, "Maybe some food."

I didn't say a word. I knew it wasn't easy for her to ask. I motioned her inside.

As soon as Pam stepped over the threshold, I heard water switch on in the bathroom. Eric was in the shower.

Thank god. No more muddy footprints and at least five minutes of peace. Maybe when he got out, he'd clean up the mess he'd made in my hall. I thought about leaving a mop outside the bathroom door as a hint.

Before I could act on that impulse, Pam gave me a significant look. I couldn't puzzle out what she meant by it. Maybe she wanted to shower as well. Her hair hung in muddy rattails and her black eye had blossomed into a full-fledged shiner. She probably needed a cold compress. Maybe some Advil. My medicine was in the bathroom with Eric. He could have been gallant and let Pam use the shower first, but, of course, he hadn't.

"You can use my bathroom, if you want," I said.

Pam shook her head no, nodded at the hall bathroom—where Eric's shower was still going strong—then pointed at the kitchen. I started feeling apprehensive. Like I was about to land in the middle of something I didn't want to get into.

Against my better judgment, I followed her. She shut the kitchen door behind us.

"He can't go to New Orleans."

"He wants to?" The Eric I knew wasn't suicidal.

"He says New Orleans has better witches."

Normally I wasn't one for big city snobbery, but I was inclined to agree with him. I'd never heard of any Shreveport-area witches, and while that didn't mean they didn't exist, New Orleans was the city of Marie Laveau. It had a reputation.

"He thinks we can't stop the Queen sending someone to Area 5. He says we have to leave and she won't think to look under her own nose."

That argument made a kind of sense—if you were approaching our current problem with a perverse, danger-seeking mentality.

"He won't listen to me," Pam said. "He's going to get us killed."

Then she gave me the same significant look she'd leveled in the hall.

It took me a second or two to catch on. "You think he'd listen to me?" Pam had never struck me as delusional.

"I think you have leeway," she said.

Before I could ask what she meant, the water shut off. "Shit," I said. "He showers fast."

Pam scowled. "And at least three times a night."

I didn't know what to do with that tidbit. We didn't have time to discuss Eric's peculiarities. It would take all night, and then some.

"Quick." I nodded at the table. "I'm making you food."

Pam sat down. I cracked the door, and grabbed the first thing I found in the cupboard, which turned out to be Quaker instant grits. Gran would roll over in her grave if she knew I was stocking it, let alone serving it to guests. Not only was it instant grits—it was instant Yankee grits. But it couldn't be helped. And it wasn't as if Pam knew the difference.

Eric appeared in the doorway. He had wrapped a towel around himself, thank god, but it didn't leave much to the imagination. I flushed. And stared. I'd seen most of Eric before, but the view didn't get boring. I'd have given a prize to any woman able to look away. I don't like to think of myself as shallow—someone who would want a man just because he was beautiful—but in that moment I had trouble thinking of anything but Eric. Wet from the shower. Dripping.

All over my hardwood floor.

A puddle grew at his feet. He held his muddy clothes in one hand.

Apparently, annoyance was an antidote to lust.

"The washer's down the hall." He might consider me his telepath, but I sure as hell wasn't his maid.

Eric held up his cell phone. He did not look pleased. "Why do I have a voicemail from Bill Compton?"

I concentrated on my poker face. "Well, did you listen to it? Maybe Bill says."

Eric didn't appreciate my sarcasm. "He says he cut his vacation short."

Damn. I'd had no idea that Bill would call Eric. I'd underestimated the demands of vampire hierarchy. I wondered if Bill could wipe his ass without running it by Eric first. Immediately, I felt rotten for thinking something so uncharitable. Bill hadn't done anything wrong. I was mad because I'd wanted to tell Eric myself when the time was right. Realistically, there was never going to be a good time. There was no way out but the truth.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I asked Bill to come home," I said.

Eric's face went blank.

He was furious.


	10. Bedfellows

"I asked Bill to come home," I said.

Eric's face went blank. He gave me a long look. It was as though he were sizing me up. It was wasted effort, because I wasn't hiding anything. Truth was the best defense.

"Why?" he said, finally.

"You need a vampire to hold off the Queen."

Eric studied me for another moment. Then, he walked out of the kitchen.

When I turned back to the table, Pam was watching me. "Bill spent thirty years in the Queen's court."

"I trust him." I didn't like how defensive I sounded.

"You're sweet." Pam smiled, and it wasn't very nice.

* * *

I stared at the closed door of my childhood bedroom.

I knocked. No answer.

I knew I should give Eric space. But I had to clear the air. Our bickering had gone on long enough. I felt worn thin. We faced a problem bigger than the both of us. I couldn't fight Eric on top of the world.

I pushed open the door.

He sat on my bed, shoulders hunched. The room was dark. I flicked on the lamp, and sat in my old armchair. He fixed me with that blank stare of his.

"I'm sick of this," I motioned between us. I sensed he was as tired of it as I was, but maybe that was wishful thinking.

"I understand why you did what you did," he said, voice toneless.

As far as peace offerings, it was grudging, but it was a hell of a lot better than I'd expected. I figured I ought to throw him an olive branch. "I'm making Pam food. You want any?"

Silence from Eric. Then, "No."

He wasn't making his life easier by starving himself. "When's the last time you ate?"

He looked at me.

I've seen Eric pissed. I'd seen him upset. But in that moment, I was afraid of him. He hadn't moved—but I knew he could if he wanted. I didn't want to be there when he did.

"Go," he said.

I went.

I didn't know what he would have done if I'd stayed.

I shut the door.

So much for clearing the air.

* * *

Eric had left his muddy clothes in a pile and a wet towel in the shower. I stuffed them in the washer. Picking up after him pissed me off, but if I didn't do it, no one would. Besides, he didn't have other clothes and I was sure to get into trouble if I let him walk around naked.

With that image in my head, I dug through Jason's old room until I found a pair of athletic shorts. "Bon Temps Falcons" was printed across the right leg. Jason was a big guy, but Eric was bigger, so I wasn't sure if the shorts would fit. The waist was elastic, so hopefully my houseguest would be able to squeeze them over his infuriatingly nice backside.

The door to my old bedroom was still closed, which was fine, because I didn't want to see Eric. I hung the shorts on the doorknob and hoped he'd figure it out. Or he could walk around naked, for all I cared, and I'd find myself a blindfold. I was through taking care of him.

For someone aged 1000, Eric spent a lot of time acting like a child.

Afterwards, I fixed Pam instant grits, explained she could season them with hot sauce or butter, and called the Bon Temps police to report my car stolen. Poor Kevin had the night shift. He was nice enough to say that I could wait till morning to file a report. I was just grateful I didn't have to do it now. It was past 11 p.m., and I'd been ready for bed since noon.

But there's never rest for the weary. As soon as I got off the phone with Kevin, I dug a bucket out of the basement and cleaned the mud the vamps tracked into the front hall. Then, I switched Eric's clothes to the dryer and doubled back to the kitchen to find Pam's dishes in the sink. I washed them, and was on my way to my room when I heard hushed voices behind Eric's door. I kept walking. I didn't have energy to deal with them.

At least they were talking to each other.

Someone had taken Jason's shorts off the doorknob, thank goodness.

Once in my room, I beelined to the master bath and walked into the best hot shower of my life. I felt like I'd been awake for a day straight. I didn't want to think about anything except how nice the water felt, but my mind kept drifting to Bill.

I knew he'd worked for the Queen. He'd told me himself. I understood why it worried Pam, but my gut told me that he was trustworthy. Bill never expressed any particular affection for the Queen, while he'd told me time and again that Eric was a good Sheriff. Plus, I'd like to think that our past relationship counted for something.

Maybe Pam was right. Maybe I was naïve. But I couldn't believe that Bill would betray me.

I turned off the water. The shower didn't feel as nice now that reality had intruded. I threw on a robe, ran a comb through my hair and walked back to my room.

I yelped.

Pam was in my bed. Covers pulled up to her neck. Her hair was wet. At least she'd showered before jumping between my sheets. I hoped she'd picked up her towel.

"Eric's bed is too small for two," Pam said, by way of explanation.

That's what I got for putting Eric in my childhood twin.

I crossed my arms. I was wearing a robe, but I felt too close to naked for comfort. "I'll make up the guest bedroom." Jason's old room was upstairs.

Pam hesitated. "I would rather not be alone." I could see she meant it.

Why did I feel guilty? My room was my space. "Pam, I'm—"

"Tired," she said. "I know."

Pam looked so exhausted, I remembered I wasn't the only one having a bad day. Now that I thought about it, I could even consider myself lucky. I hadn't had to hide a body. I hadn't been covered in mud.

I wasn't the only woman in this house mothering Eric.

I felt a sinking sensation. "If I let you stay—"

She smiled. She'd won, and she knew it. "Yes?"

"Don't try anything." I trusted Pam. I just didn't trust her to keep her hands to herself.

She gave me a toothy grin. She looked like her old self. I was not thrilled that there was only a robe between her and all of me.

"Don't worry, Sookie," Pam said. "Eric would not approve."

I didn't have the energy to wonder what she meant by that. I'd planned to wear a nightgown, but the new sleeping arrangements called for more layers. I grabbed sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt out of my drawer. "I'm changing in the bathroom."

And that's what I did. When I came back, Pam hadn't moved.

She watched as I brushed my hair and took out my earrings. The silence creeped me out, so I raised Pam's favorite subject. "How is he?"

"Not good."

Well, that was a conversation killer.

Pam drove the talk in a direction I didn't want to explore. "Bill's first loyalty isn't to Eric."

"He'll buy you time."

"If he does as he's told."

I slipped in beside her. It felt strange lying next to someone. The last person who'd slept by me was Bill.

She rolled over to face me. "Thank you, Sookie."

I nodded. I felt uncomfortable. I didn't know if it was the memories of Bill or having Pam so close. With the ex-vamp home invasion, my bed was the one space I'd thought I could count on being alone. "Just stay on your side."

I turned off the light.

I could hear Pam breathing in the darkness.

I felt guilty for being short when she'd given me a rare thank you, so I decided to close the conversation on a positive note. Never go to bed angry, and all that. I scrounged for something harmless. "How did you like the grits?"

Silence from Pam. Then, "You have many talents besides cooking."

From her, it was basically a compliment.

* * *

I woke up alone.

There was a blond hair on the pillow beside me. I wasn't sure if it were mine or Pam's.

The hair could also be Eric's, I realized with a chill. He'd never been between my sheets, but yesterday, he'd been on top of them. His break-in still made me angry. But it was a new day. Maybe a fresh start.

"It's 'auspicious' today."

I bolted upright. Eric sat in my reading chair, wearing Jason's athletic shorts and nothing else. He held my Word of the Day calendar.

My shock made him smile. "I see you like surprises as much as I do," he said, with malice. He turned back to the calendar. "Auspicious, adjective—"

"I know what it means." How long had he been there? Had he watched me sleep?

"Then goodbye auspicious." He tore off today's page, and crumpled it. His eyes found mine. "Don't go behind my back again." His tone was casual. He said it almost like an afterthought, but I could feel the edge underneath. He didn't have to say or else. His connotation (last Tuesday's word) was pretty damn clear. He could come into my room whenever he wanted. There was no where I could hide from him.

I grabbed my robe off a hook and cinched it around myself. "Get out."

He stood. I felt very aware of how tall he was. He started to the door. As he passed me, he dropped a kiss on my temple. Right at the pulse point. I don't know how he managed to make something so gentle feel like a threat.

"Good morning, Sookie," he said, and left.

I locked the door behind him, walked to the bathroom and pulled the shower curtain. I turned on the water.

My heart was pounding so fast, the steam made me feel faint.


	11. Chicken

After my shower, I dressed with so much violence I almost ripped my t-shirt. I wasn't frightened anymore. I didn't want to see Eric again. I would've kicked him out if I thought there was any chance he'd actually leave.

Eric had always made me wary, but I'd also liked him. More or less. He made me laugh almost as much as he made me cringe. He put me in danger, but he didn't leave me hanging.

My appreciation of him was beginning to feel naïve.

I wanted Eric out of my life. Unfortunately, it seemed like the quickest way to get rid of him was to help him. Which meant I couldn't kick him out. Yet.

But my gracious hostess days were over.

I needed breakfast. I was hungry and angry, which is never a good combination. Considering Eric's distaste for solid food, the kitchen was the one place I'd be sure to avoid him. Maybe, if I were lucky, he'd starve himself to the point of passing out. An unconscious Eric would be a hell of a lot easier to deal with than the current version.

So when I walked into the kitchen to find Eric eating cold chicken with a knife, I had to force myself not to walk out. I would not be a fugitive inside my own home.

I did the only reasonable thing: I told myself he didn't exist and started to make coffee.

"Sookie."

It speaks.

I ignored him. He pretended not to hear me all the time.

Eric tossed a wallet on the counter. It was caked with mud.

As much as I wanted to continue the silent treatment, he'd piqued my interest. "What's this?"

"See for yourself," he said.

I flipped it open. The witch's face stared up from an Arkansas driver's license.

I slid the license out of its sleeve. "Marnie Stonebrook." I'd been expecting a name like Maleficent. Marnie sounded ordinary. Almost too ordinary. But, then again, a name didn't tell you much about a person. As far as names went, 'Eric,' 'Pam,' and 'Bill' were about as white bread as it got.

Eric cut himself some chicken and ate it, using his knife as a fork. "Look in the billfold."

I did. No cash. I wondered if Eric had found it like that. There was a business card for a motel outside Shreveport.

"After breakfast you will take me," he said.

Like hell. It was an hour to Shreveport. I wasn't about to spend that much time in a car with him.

"Pam and I will go." I sure as hell wasn't going by myself, in case the witch's brother was still around. "We'll take the gun."

He didn't like that idea, go figure. "Sookie—"

"I'm sorry," I cut him off. "Do you want my help or not?"

Being short with him wasn't smart, but thankfully, he backed off. He seemed to realize he'd crossed a line.

Better late than never.

"You and Pam will go," he repeated, as if it had been his idea.

"Never sneak into my room again," I said. "I don't care how angry you are. Talk to me like a person."

Eric acted like he hadn't heard and cut himself more chicken.

Silence fell.

I had to stand there like a doofus until my coffee finished. I poured a cup, then left. Eric didn't look at me once.

It wasn't the best exit in the universe, but I'd gotten something off my chest. I felt better, until I realized that I'd forgotten the food part of breakfast in my haste to leave. If I wanted to eat, I'd have to face him again.

I dithered around my room, drinking coffee, stalling, and hyping myself up. When my stomach growled, I decided to stop being ridiculous.

By the time I got back to the kitchen, Eric was gone. But he'd put the chicken back in the fridge and rinsed his knife.

It was sitting in the drying rack, spotless.

* * *

"This is not the motel," Pam said as I pulled off I-49, just south of Shreveport proper.

"I know." I pulled into a lot and parked next to a very massive—and very familiar—Dodge Ram pickup. "I'll be ten minutes."

I had called Alcide Herveaux as soon as Eric mentioned Shreveport. Since the witch was a were, I wanted to ask if he'd heard anything about her. I hated to involve Alcide in Eric's mess, even peripherally, but I thought he deserved a heads up too. There was nothing to say that the witch had only planned to target vampires. She might be dead, but her brother was still a threat. Alcide should be on his guard.

Plus, after dealing with Eric, I was looking forward to a conversation with someone who treated me like a normal human being.

When I'd called, Alcide had sounded as happy to hear from me as I was to talk to him. He gave me directions to his office in Shreveport.

"Eric would not be pleased," Pam said, when I told her that I was visiting Alcide.

I told Pam exactly how much Eric's pleasure meant to me. She laughed and waved me out of the car. "You're something else, Sookie."

"Don't talk to strangers," I said.

Alcide's office was inside a sprawling one-story complex. A line of pickup trucks sat out front, which made sense, since his family ran a contracting company. As I got closer, I noticed that his family seemed to own the whole building, as well as the pickups. Each had "Herveaux Contracting" stamped on the side.

I was suddenly very aware of my old T-shirt and jeans. I wasn't dressed for a business meeting. When I stepped inside, the receptionist gave me the stink eye. She didn't think much of my outfit either. When I asked for Alcide, she was noticeably surprised, but she paged him anyway. He appeared out of the back almost immediately, and pulled me into a hug. A big one.

With Alcide, everything's big. He's a tall guy, and a strong and he has big curls that never seem able to lie flat on his head. I came up to his chest, and I took full advantage of the opportunity to rest my head on it. As I relaxed in his arms, I was almost able to forget that I had two ex-vamps to babysit.

The receptionist wondered how long Alcide and I had been having an affair. It kind of spoiled the moment.

"Hey," Alcide said, as we broke apart. He'd wrapped his fingers in my hair. "Come on back."

Alcide opened the door to the office and ushered me into a hallway. A handful of guys in hardhats chatted inside, and they stepped out of the way to let us pass.

Alcide led me to a door at the end of the hall. His name was on the front. He planted himself behind a desk. His desk. There were stacks of important-looking papers and his phone was blinking. Someone was waiting for him to take their call.

I felt self-conscious, like I was taking up too much of his time. But then I saw the big smile on his face and relaxed.

"It's good to see you," he said.

"Same." I was smiling too. I couldn't help it.

Alcide's smile faltered. He ran his hands through his hair. He seemed nervous. "Listen, Sookie, I've been wanting to talk to you. That night in Jackson—"

I knew what he was going to say. Alcide was trying to apologize for leaving me in Club Dead. His thoughts were tinged with remorse, and he was struggling to find the right words.

I didn't want to think about that night any more than I had to. "It's okay." Or mostly okay. I could hardly blame Alcide for what happened with Bill. "You couldn't help it."

"Still," he said.

I reached across the desk and squeezed his hand. He ran his thumb over my mine, absently. It felt nice. I could have sat like that for a while. But time was a luxury I didn't have. As much as I wanted to linger, I couldn't leave Pam in the car forever.

I cut to the chase. "Do you know a Marnie Stonebrook?"

"No bells." Alcide shook his head.

"She's a were. And a witch."

He looked concerned. "What've you gotten mixed up in, Sookie?"

I'd been asking myself the same question. "It's safer if you don't know. Just watch out and let me know if you hear anything."

"I've never heard of weres being witches." Alcide's face darkened. "Witches are humans who want a little something extra. Weres have enough magic as is."

"Too bad Marnie doesn't agree."

Alcide studied me, then, out of the blue, asked, "This Marnie's been bothering the vamps?"

I opened my mouth, then shut it. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to tell Alcide the truth. He'd help me. He'd have my back, unless the vamps found out and killed him for it. If I unburdened, I'd only put him in danger.

I decided not to tell Alcide anything, no matter how much I wanted an ally. I tried to keep up a poker face, but something must have shown because Alcide said, "Goddamn it, Sookie. Wherever you go a bloodsucker's not far behind." There was more than a little bitterness in his voice. He added a belated, "No offense."

"Don't worry about it." My voice sounded tarter that usual.

"And now that you're back with Bill—"

"Who told you that?"

"You aren't?" He looked surprised. Hopeful, even.

"We broke up a month ago." Before I could wonder where Alcide was getting his information, I heard it is his head. I should have known.

"You're back with Debbie?"

"No." He looked ashamed of himself. "Well. Not really."

Alcide and I were friendlier than friends ought to be, but I was never going to let what we had grow into something more until he was clear of Debbie Pelt. It was too bad that day didn't seem to be getting any closer.

"Whatever she said, it was a lie." I wasn't surprised. The worst part was that he wasn't either.

Alcide looked so remorseful, my heart softened a little. "Guess I should know better."

Yes, he should. But he didn't need me telling him.

"Feels like all I'm doing today is apologizing," he said, with a rueful smile

After that, we wrapped up. Alcide said he'd ask his packmaster about Marnie and he promised he'd be in touch if he learned anything. He made me promise to call him if I was in trouble. I agreed, because I doubted that he'd let me leave if I didn't. We hugged goodbye and I enjoyed it more than I should have. Alcide offered to walk me to my car, but I declined, thinking of Pam.

Pam must have noticed something, because when I got back to the car, she asked, "He's tall, your were?"

"He's not mine."

She smirked.

* * *

The motel was a ways off I-20. The nice chains—Best Western, Super 8—were close to the highway. The further from the interstate, the more rundown the accommodations.

Pam directed me onto a street dotted with used car dealerships. "This is it." She held up the card from the witch's wallet. "Caddo Motel."

The Caddo was a one-story motel, built around a parking lot. There were about 20 rooms and a handful of cars, all busted clunkers. Bill's well-kept sedan stood out, which made me nervous. I circled the lot, and parked next to the exit.

"You've got the gun?" I asked Pam, and she tapped her purse.

"I'm coming with you," she said, and got out of the car without waiting for my reply.

I was glad that Pam wasn't planning to sit tight. I didn't want to face the witch's brother alone, and I figured the chances of anyone at the Caddo recognizing Pam were slim to none, especially since she was wearing one of my church dresses. It was flowered and modest, basically the opposite of her goth-chic Fangtasia uniform. On the whole, it made her look really young. If she were a customer at Merlotte's, I would have carded her. I realized anyone seeing the two of us would assume I was older.

We started towards the front office. Halfway there, an idea struck me. "Pam, lend me one of your rings."

Left to her own devices, Pam was a no-nonsense dresser, a khaki and sweater set kind of girl, but she usually wore a few simple gold rings. God bless her, Pam didn't even ask why I wanted one. She eased one off her hand and passed it to me. I jammed it onto my ring finger. Left hand.

The bell rang as we walked into the front office. An old lady glanced up from behind the desk. She looked me up and down. My reception couldn't have been more different than Alcide's office. Here, my ratty jeans and T-shirt were an asset. I didn't stand out from the usual clientele. "Stonebrook staying here?"

"Who's asking?" she said, but I heard the answer in her head. Yes, and Room 18.

I flashed my ring. "Fiancé."

"He's here with a woman." Her thoughts were full of sympathy, which was refreshing.

"Tall lady?"

"That was yesterday," she said. "Today, she's French."

Pam and I looked at each other. She didn't have any more of a clue than I did. "The tall girl's his sister," I said, fishing for more information.

"He ain't got a French sister." The woman handed me the key for Room 18. "Bring that back when you're finished with him."

I told the woman thanks, elbowed Pam so she said thanks, and walked out of the office.

Number 18 was at the end of the row of rooms.

The parking lot was deserted except for the maid, who was piling clean towels on a handcart. She was about my age and had a Windex bottle hanging from the loop of her jeans. She was in street clothes. This wasn't the kind of place that invested in uniforms.

The maid walked inside Room 12, leaving her cart unattended. As we passed, Pam grabbed it. She started pushing it towards the witch's brother's room. "Hey," I said, but Pam ignored me.

I heard footfalls behind me, and turned around to see the maid. "Give us one sec," I said, trying to think an explanation. I was coming up with zilch.

Pam rapped on the door of Room 18. "Housekeeping."

"What the fuck?" The maid was pissed. I couldn't blame her.

Pam didn't spare us a second glance. "Housekeeping," she repeated, and started pounding on the door.

No response.

"Sookie, key," she said, and I tossed it to her.

"My fiancé's been cheating," I told the maid. I felt rotten lying, but it seemed to mollify her. "Sorry about the cart."

I was instantly forgiven. "Forget it." I appreciated her sympathy. "Men are dogs."

I thought of Alcide and suppressed a smile.

Pam unlocked the door. She stepped in, then stuck her head out, and waved me over. I said goodbye to the maid and joined her.

The room was dark. Shades drawn. Rumpled bed, but otherwise no sign of life. The witch's brother didn't seem to be in, but he couldn't have gone far, because his luggage was on the dresser. Clothes spilled out of the open bag.

A pair of cowboy boots stood at the foot of his bed. "He left without shoes?" I said.

"Sookie." Pam pointed at the nightstand.

The bedside lamp lay on the floor. Shade knocked off. Bulb shattered. I knew signs of struggle when I saw them. Thanks, Law and Order.

Pam took the gun out of her purse. She walked into the bathroom. Switched on the light.

The witch's brother lay in the bathtub, tangled in the shower curtain. I couldn't see his wounds, but I knew from the color of his skin that he was dead.


	12. Memory Lane

I opened my mouth to scream, but someone beat me to it. I wheeled around. The maid stood in the doorway, hollering. Her eyes were glued to the corpse.

I had no idea what to do.

Thank god for Pam.

"Police." She flashed the gun. "Out. This is a crime scene."

That cured my stupor. As she turned back to the body, I hustled the maid towards the door. My mind moved just fast enough to keep the lies flowing. "We're plainclothes." What did they say on Law & Order? "We'll call for backup. The perp may still be on the premises. Get in your car and go."

"But I don't have a car." The maid looked terrified. "I take the bus."

I felt like a jerk scaring her, even though it was for her own good. The less she saw, the better. "You'll be okay." I squeezed her shoulder, in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. "Go."

She didn't need to be told twice. Without another word, she was out the door. I'd left it ajar in my haste to meet Pam, which was how she'd gotten inside in the first place.

I shut the door. Locked it. I pulled back the curtain and watched the maid hightail it across the parking lot to the bus stop on the main drag.

When I returned to the bathroom, Pam was studying the corpse. "He's been dead for hours." She used the gun to lift the shower curtain around his neck. The underside was stained red. I caught a glimpse of the wound underneath. My stomach turned.

"Jesus, Pam." I shut my eyes. I couldn't throw up. We had too much cleaning to do already.

"I thought you'd want to know." Her tone was matter-of-fact. It might have been small talk for all the emotion she put into it. Pam's detachment was chilling, but also, on some level, reassuring. She knew what she was doing.

I felt better. Then, I felt bad feeling better. A man was dead. That shouldn't feel ordinary.

I wanted to keep my eyes closed, but that wasn't going to fly. When I worked up the courage to peel back my lids, Pam had moved the shower curtain back into place. Thank god. "Eric will be disappointed that you didn't let him come."

Eric was the last thing I wanted to think about. I pointed in the direction of the wound. Thankfully, the curtain covered the worst of it. "Could a vampire have done that?"

"Unlikely," she said. "The killer used a knife. One of us wouldn't need to."

I was too on edge to correct her pronouns. If she wanted to think of herself as a vampire, that was her prerogative. "I'm going to search his luggage." I needed to get away from the corpse.

"I'm sure whoever killed him took anything of interest," Pam said. She was probably right, but we wouldn't know until we looked. And I had to get out of that bathroom.

I didn't want to leave fingerprints, so I found a pair of his socks and put them over my hands. I felt like a doofus and I didn't know how much good it would actually do, but it felt like better than nothing. That being said, my sock-gloves slowed the speed of the search.

If I'd been looking for boxers, plaid shirts, or white socks, I would have been rolling in it. As I wasn't, I found a whole lot of nothing. The only thing of note was his checkbook, buried at the bottom of the bag. I took it on the off chance there'd be a clue in the records—big deposits, that sort of thing.

I put the checkbook in my purse, glancing at the address first. The witch's brother had been named Mark Stonebrook.

Mark and Marnie. They sounded like a signing group.

The Stonebrooks hadn't done much to endear themselves to me in the short time we'd sort of known each other, but their deaths hardly seemed like fair ways to end. One hit by a car. One killed in a crummy motel room.

"Rest in peace," I said, because no one deserved to go like that.

"Sookie," Pam called from the bathroom. "Are you talking to yourself?"

"Uh."

Pam didn't wait for a more coherent reply, which was good, because I wasn't planning to admit to anything. "Get in here. I have something to show you."

I took a deep breath. I didn't want to go back into the bathroom, but I told myself not to be a baby and forced myself across the threshold.

Pam had used the gun to push the shower curtain away from Mark's feet. His killer had bound his ankles with silver. "It's on his hands too."

Silver weakened weres. It didn't burn them, as it did vampires, but it was still a kind of kryptonite. Whoever killed the witch's brother had known he was a supe. I'd never imagined that Mark's murder was accidental—a wrong place at the wrong time kind of thing—but it was nice to get confirmation.

Well, maybe 'nice' wasn't the right word. There wasn't anything 'nice' about this situation.

As Pam nudged Mark's feet, something caught the light. I leaned closer. "Is that a necklace?" A pendant hung from the silver chain wrapped around his ankle.

"Give me one of those." Pam nodded at my hands. I realized that I was still wearing the sock-gloves.

I handed her one. She put it on and yanked. The chain snapped. The pendant came away in her hand.

It was a locket.

She popped it open.

Inside were two photographs: Gran and my Aunt Linda.

"You know them?" Pam asked.

It took me a second to realize she was asking generally. Not because she knew I knew.

"No," I lied. A chill went down my spine. "Never seen them before in my life."

* * *

It took me ten minutes to realize my mistake. By that time, we were on the road.

I'd called the police from the motel to report the murder. I hung up as soon as they asked who I was. The woman behind the front desk would tell the cops about Pam and me, but it couldn't be helped. Eric had contacts in the Shreveport police, so Pam couldn't let herself be questioned.

As for me, I had no believable connection to Mark. I couldn't keep up the fiancé fiction. According to his checks, he was from Arkansas. Where had we met? Even if I managed to convince the cops we were engaged, Mark had been "cheating." If I pretended to be his fiancé, I'd give the police a suspect with motive, tied with a bow.

It would be easier if Pam and I disappeared.

I hoped the desk clerk hadn't taken a close enough look at Bill's car to give the police a description or, heaven forbid, his plate number. When the cops found Mark, they'd know he'd been dead for hours and, hopefully, that we hadn't done it. If we were lucky, they'd spend time looking for the French lady, whoever she was.

Hadley wasn't French.

But I couldn't explain why Hadley's silver necklace—because who else would have those two photos?— had ended up on Mark Stonebrook's body.

I wasn't about to share my suspicions with Eric or Pam. They would attack Hadley first and ask questions later. No, I had to confront her myself. Hadley could be selfish, but she wasn't a murderer. At least, the Hadley I knew hadn't been. There had to be an explanation. Other than the one staring me in the face.

Because why would Hadley have killed Mark Stonebrook?

All of which brought me to my mistake.

I'd told Pam I didn't recognize the women in the locket, but there were photographs of Gran all over my house. In the living room. In the hall. There was even a big honking portrait hanging above Eric's bed. It was a photograph of a young Gran—Gran on her wedding day—but it was still recognizably her.

Pam hadn't noticed. But Eric had gone through my possessions. He must have seen the pictures. If either of them recognized Gran, they'd know I'd lied to them.

It would lead them straight to Hadley.

And Bill. Oh god, Bill was coming home tonight. In a matter of hours, actually. Bill had met Gran in person. I didn't think he would be as quick to hurt Hadley as Eric, but it would be far from good if he saw her photograph.

"Are you all right?" I must have looked really upset, because Pam actually seemed concerned.

"I feel sick." I wasn't lying. Fear had made me nauseous. As soon as Eric saw the locket, it was over. I had to talk to Hadley before he found out. I had to buy time. I pulled Bill's car into to the shoulder. My hands were shaking. "I'll be a minute."

I could feel Pam's eyes on my back as I got out of the car. I knew I was acting strange, but I couldn't bring myself to care. We were on a long stretch of wooded highway. I walked to the tree line. When I couldn't see the car anymore, I took the locket out of my pocket and dropped it into the pine straw. I buried it with my foot.

Then, I took a deep breath.

When Pam asked, I'd pretend we'd lost it. Maybe we dropped it in Bill's car. Maybe we left it at the motel.

If my life were a police show, I'd be destroying evidence. On television, cops got suspended for that. Eric would do much worse, if he found out.

I hated lying. But I didn't have other options. Eric and Pam put vampires first. I had to do the same for my family. Hadley could be a headache, but she was still blood.

I hoped to god she had an explanation.

Because why on earth would she have killed Mark Stonebrook?

When I'd gotten my heart rate under control, I walked back to the car. I was grateful to see Pam waiting in the driver's seat. I didn't think I could concentrate on the road on top of everything else. I got inside and passed her the keys.

"It gets easier," she said, as she started the car.

I realized she was talking about the corpse. Pam thought I was upset about Mark. She was trying to be kind.

If anything, it made me feel worse.

* * *

Pam waited in the car while I popped into the Bon Temps Police Department to report my Malibu stolen. It frayed my nerves to visit a police station after fleeing a crime scene, but that was my life. I was happy to see Kevin, who was always kind to me. I couldn't have stomached Andy's abrasiveness or Bud's suspicion. Not today.

As I picked my way through forms, Kevin told me that he had good news. Kenya had found my car on a back road near Minden. "Some teenagers, on a joyride," he said, just as Eric had predicted. I could retrieve the car from impound tomorrow. "We probably won't get them, but we're checking just the same."

"Thanks."

Kevin peered out the window. "I see you're using Vampire Bill's car."

I nodded.

"He's back in town?" What he really wanted to know was if we were back together.

"Just got in." I finished the forms fast as I could, smiled and left. I wasn't going to give Kevin any more information than that.

Nice or not, it wasn't his business.

* * *

I felt like I'd aged decades since Pam and I had left Hummingbird Lane this morning. She seemed just as wiped out.

"You should get some rest," I said. I wasn't being nice. I wanted to postpone a discussion of the locket until I had a chance to talk with Hadley. I felt guilty, but I didn't know what else to do.

"I have to talk to Eric," Pam said.

"I'll do it."

Her eyes narrowed. Suspicion.

I thought fast. "I'd rather he heard about Alcide from me."

"I wasn't going to say anything." She was lying.

"Sure, Pam," I said. "At any rate, I'm sick of fighting with him." I was sick to death of everything to do with him, to be honest.

She studied me. "He will be glad to hear that."

Really? Because lately, it seemed like he lived to make my life hell.

There was an uncomfortable sort of silence. "Get some rest. Use my bed, if you want." I had a photograph of Gran on my bureau, but it was small, and sandwiched between larger ones of Jason and my parents. Pam wouldn't be thinking to look for it. I'd only draw attention if I tried to hide it.

"Okay." She threw in a rare, "Thank you," which made me feel extra rotten.

And that was that. We went inside, Pam to nap and I to find Eric.

Per usual, he wasn't easily found. Eric wasn't easily anything, these days. I poked my head in his room. He wasn't there, but he had made his bed.

I walked into the kitchen. Eric had put away his chicken knife. And he'd cleaned my coffee pot. The pieces lay dissembled, on the drip rack. Gleaming.

Somebody was on his best behavior.

"Your cousin's been calling," he said, behind me.

I caught my breath. "You startled me." In fact, he'd made me so jumpy, it took me a second to process what he'd said. "My cousin?" Hadley was the last thing I wanted Eric to be talking about, which, of course, explained why he was talking about her.

Eric smiled. He enjoyed getting a rise out of me. Ass. "She called three times. There's a problem with your brother."

I was at the phone before he could say boo, dialing Jason's number.

Hadley picked up on the first ring. "Jason?"

"It's Sookie."

"Oh thank god," she said. "I've must have left five messages."

"I've been out. Where's Jason?"

"I don't know," Hadley said, and my heart just about stopped. "I was hoping you did. He hasn't been home the whole time I've been here."

I wondered how Hadley had gotten inside Jason's house if he wasn't around, but it seemed like the least important issue right now. "Hadley, it's a work day."

Which reminded me. I was on the Merlotte's schedule tomorrow. Dear lord.

"His boss called this morning. Said he didn't show."

That didn't sound like Jason. He was usually responsible about work, but if he was playing hooky, my guess was that he'd fallen into a love nest. "Have you tried his girlfriend?"

"She came by two hours ago, looking for him," Hadley said. "That's when I phoned you."

Jason worked through women on a rotating basis, so it was possible he was with a newer lady than his newest.

I glanced at the clock. Almost 5 pm. I looked out the window. Light was already fading. Bill would be awake in a matter of minutes. Anubis must have already dropped him off.

"I'll come as soon as I can," I said. "Probably in an hour. After dusk." After I talked with Bill. Hopefully by then Jason would have crawled out from whatever California King-sized hole he'd fallen into.

Swinging by Jason's would also give me the opportunity to confront Hadley about the locket. I couldn't imagine what her explanation would be, but I really hoped she had one.

"Call if anything changes. Do you have my cell number?"

Hadley said she didn't and I read it off to her. Then, we hung up.

I turned around to see Eric watching me. No rest for the weary. "Crisis averted?"

"Not really. My brother's missing. He's probably with a woman, but—" I wouldn't let myself consider alternate possibilities. Not yet.

"Many people rely on you," Eric said.

I had to stop myself from frowning. It was a weird thing to say. I didn't know if it was a compliment, and if it was, why he was bothering. I didn't have the energy to puzzle him out, so I just said nothing.

"How was the motel?"

"It's a long story." I didn't want to think about the witch's brother. Let alone the locket. "Is Bill here?"

"The Anubis truck came by an hour ago."

"I should head over there." I also wanted to drop off Bill's sedan before he realized Eric stole it. I do anything I could do to smooth their inevitably bad first meeting. From Bill's, I'd swing by Hadley.

"I'll come," Eric said.

I blinked. I'd expected that Eric's first impulse would be to hide until I forced Bill on him.

He must have picked up on my incredulity, because he said, "I am his Sheriff."

It was hard to be a vampire Sheriff when you were not a vampire, but I decided not to point that out to Eric.

"My presence will communicate our problem." Eric sounded like a management handbook, but in this case, he was right.

Seeing was believing.

* * *

Our drive to Bill's was short and uneventful. I told Eric about Mark's murder, leaving out the locket. When I mentioned the French woman, he said, "Really?" then got all quiet and cagey when I confirmed it.

"Do you know her?" Eric's mind didn't go 1000 miles a minute for no reason.

He studied me. I resigned myself to the fact that he wasn't going to share, but then he said, "I hope not. She arrived at night?"

"I don't know."

"Hm," said Eric, and then we were at Bill's.

I could have eavesdropped on his thoughts, but since he'd been forthcoming—or at least as forthcoming as he ever got—listening felt a little bit like a violation. And I had too many things to worry about without adding a murderess to the list. I'd leave the French woman to Eric for now. Once I took care of Bill, Hadley, the locket and my brother, I could move on to Mark.

* * *

The Anubis people had left Bill's coffin in the living room. Eric and I waited on a couch opposite. We were both pretty tense—for obvious reasons.

After a few minutes, Eric broke the silence.

"You'll get paid whether I live or not," he said, completely out of the blue. "I've made arrangements with Bobby."

I had no idea what to make of that.

I appreciated money as much as the next person—maybe more than some, considering my property taxes—but over the last few days, Eric had used compensation as a way to control me.

"I don't care about the money," I said. I was helping him because I didn't want him to die.

"You'd take it, regardless." There was an edge in his voice.

I shrugged. If he was going to talk to me like that, I had nothing more to say.

Eric looked offended. His reaction confused me, until I realized that he might have been trying to thank me. What had he said? You'll get paid, whether I live or not. Whatever happened to him, I'd be taken care of. My compensation was no longer contingent. From his perspective, it was a huge concession.

I didn't know whether to feel touched or exasperated. Our relationship would be a whole lot simpler if he could just say thank you.

"You aren't going to die," I said. "Pam either."

Eric seemed surprised. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bill's clock struck five. Outside the window, daylight faded. Eric turned his attention to the coffin. "Soon."

That one word—soon—upped my stress level. In a few minutes, Bill would wake up. The last time I'd seen him, we'd broken up. The memory was still painful. I needed to take a deep breath. Prepare myself. I stood up. I sure as hell couldn't calm down with Eric sitting beside me. "I'm going to take a walk."

"Stay." There was an urgency in Eric's voice that took me aback. He touched my arm.

I flinched.

Eric took his hand away, but he repeated, "Stay." His voice was gentle. He realized that he'd come on too strong. He was thinking about the best way to calm me down. A joke? Politeness. "Please."

I'd been too upset to block him out, but I pulled back now. Falling into his thoughts was too easy. I hardly ever liked what I found.

"I need you to stay," Eric said. "You can't be glamoured. Whenever Pam or I are with Bill, I want you there to keep track of time."

It was a huge ask. From sunset to sunup, I'd be on a leash. "Bill's not going to glamour you."

Eric's voice was steady, but his thoughts were tinged with fear. "Not if I take precautions."

Precautions? I understood Eric's fear of glamour, but last time I'd checked, I was a person. Not a contingency plan.

"This is an opportunity for Bill," Eric said.

Of course, Eric would make this about his position.

"Bill's not ambitious," I said. I didn't say – not like you. Eric might manipulate this situation to his benefit, but I didn't expect Bill to be so calculating.

Eric looked at me. "We all want something."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just met his eyes.

Eric looked away first. "I glamored you. In Jackson."

I had no idea why he was digging this up, so I kept my mouth shut. Silence was really the best policy until I knew that I could talk without losing my temper.

"You remember?"

I nodded. Of course I remembered. Jackson had only been a month ago. "Eric, you have to help me out here." I wasn't sure what he was after. He wasn't big on memory lane and if he wanted to reminisce, that time I'd been staked wasn't a Kodak moment.

"Forget it," he said, but his thoughts told a different story. He wanted to know what glamour felt like. Whether he'd be able to tell if it happened.

He was scared of Bill.

For goodness sake.

"It was nice." I said. "Like going to sleep."

Eric looked at me, sharp. He wondered if I'd read his mind.

"I read your mind." Saying it was stupid, but I was too tired to be anything other than blunt.

Apparently, so was he. "I wish you wouldn't."

"You're loud. I have to work to block you out."

He stared at me. I stared at him. It could have been a contest, if either of us had the energy to waste on that sort of thing.

Then, he nodded. "Okay."

I was surprised. "Okay?"

"Yes. Okay." He said it like he was addressing someone hard of hearing. I didn't know what he was thinking, because I'd pulled out of his mind. His expression was neutral, but every other part of him seemed tense.

I felt sorry for him.

I was surprised that I was able to, after the day we'd had.

I sat on the sofa. I didn't need to read Eric's thoughts to know that he wanted reassurance. "Look, glamour wasn't so bad."

"It's okay." Eric thought I was humoring him. And I was. A little. I pulled out of his head. Somehow, he kept drawing me in.

As hard as this was for me, it was also bad for him. That didn't excuse his behavior. It just explained it. A little.

Eric looked pensive. It seemed like he was gearing up to say something. I braced myself, but then his eyes flickered to Bill's coffin.

I followed his gaze.

The coffin had started to shake, as if something inside were moving.


	13. Jungle Room

The coffin started shaking. The lid swung open, pushed from the inside.

I caught a surge of emotion from Eric—anger, fear. On instinct, I grabbed his hand. He looked at me, surprised. Join the club, buddy. I'd surprised myself. Eric squeezed my hand so tight it almost hurt. As I squeezed back, I realized my palms were sweaty. I was as scared as he was.

Bill sat up. We dropped hands. I don't know which of us moved first.

Bill looked at Eric. Then me. Then Eric again. Then Eric harder.

He started laughing.

I was freaked out. Eric didn't look much happier. "Bill—" I began, but before I could finish, Bill was out of the coffin and had Eric against the wall. He moved so fast, one moment, Eric was sitting next to me; the next, he was gone.

Being the mature, centuries-old individuals that they are, Bill and Eric immediately started in on a staring contest. I'll give Eric something—for all his hullabaloo about glamour, he looked Bill in the eye and didn't blink.

"Hands off," he said.

Bill obliged.

"We have a problem." I told the room. Everyone already knew, but I was afraid they'd spend all day glaring at each other if I didn't intervene.

Neither of them responded. Bill was too busy watching Eric; Eric was watching Bill. Eric's expression was calm, almost nonchalant, but his thoughts were roiling. His eyes kept darting around the room. Looking for an exit? No, a weapon. He fixed on firewood, piled near Bill's chimney. It was a leftover from when we'd been dating. Bill didn't feel the cold.

I caught Eric's eyes. Shook my head. Don't be stupid.

And it was stupid. Really stupid. Eric couldn't get to the firewood before Bill caught him. But beyond that, Eric knew better than to attack Bill. I couldn't believe that he'd rather stake him than ask for his help. Eric was thinking like a cornered animal. But he didn't have to. Bill would help us.

I hoped.

Bill took a step closer to Eric. He grabbed Eric's hand. Eric tried to tug free, but of course he wasn't able to. Bill started feeling up and down his wrist. I thought it was weird, until I realized that Bill was searching for a pulse. When he found it, he was still for a moment. Then, he dropped Eric's arm.

Bill stared at Eric like he'd never seen anything so remarkable.

Eric stared back. "What?" It was a challenge. He was daring Bill to say it out loud.

Bill started laughing. Eric glared. Bill tried to stop himself, but he very obviously couldn't. "Am I dreaming?" he said.

* * *

"It's not just me," Eric said. "Clancy, Pam."

"Possibly the other Area 5 vamps," I said. Eric nodded. We'd never discussed it, but if I'd come to that conclusion, you could be he did too.

"And both witches are dead?" Bill looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Welcome to my world.

"One by accident," I said. "One murdered."

"By a French woman," Eric added.

Bill looked at him, sharp. Whatever French lady Eric had been thinking of, Bill knew her too. Which meant she was probably a vampire. Great.

"You mean Cajun," Bill said.

"Sookie?" Eric looked at me.

I was obviously in the middle of something, but I didn't know the battle lines. I decided to ignore it for now, and hope it didn't come back to bite me. "I was told French." The woman at the motel talked like she was from around here, so she'd know the difference. Plus, we didn't get many Cajuns in this part of the state. Then again, we didn't get many French people either.

"Speaking of," Eric said, "I've been summoned to New Orleans."

Bill understood immediately. "The Queen."

"Who else?" said Mr. Smarmy.

"You can't go."

"Obviously."

They could have gone on like that for a while, so I stepped in. "Bill, I was hoping you could hold her off. Until we break the spell."

"Say I have pressing business," Eric piggybacked. "I'm sending you in my stead."

"She'll be upset," Bill said.

"The truth would upset her more." Eric gave Bill a significant look. "You can take care of this. You know her well enough. You were always a favorite."

"We have a working relationship." Bill sounded reluctant. His eyes flickered to me.

"Don't we all," said Eric, and he was looking from Bill to me with more interest than usual.

I didn't want to get bogged down in their sniping. We didn't have time. "Well, you're the only vampire we've got, so if you don't help—" I left the worst-case scenario unsaid.

Eric glared at me. He didn't like me putting it out there so bluntly, but I saw no reason to be coy. If Bill didn't help us, we were screwed.

If I was going to throw in the bacon, I might as well go whole hog. I met Bill's eyes. His cool gaze brought back memories. I suppressed a shiver. "It could have just as easily been you." If he hadn't been in Peru, Bill would likely be in the same boat as Eric.

Bill stared at me. His expression was unreadable. Then, he turned to Eric. "You will owe me."

"Obviously," Eric said.

"And if the Queen finds out—"

"I take responsibility," Eric said. "Obviously."

"I want—" Bill started.

Eric was quick to shut him down. "We'll negotiate details later."

Later meant when the spell was broken. When Eric could maneuver from a position of power. Bill was smart enough to ignore him. "After this, you'll leave Sookie be."

I was just as surprised as Eric. "That's what you want?" Eric seemed incredulous.

"No more demands. No more Dallas," Bill said. "She's done enough for you."

I didn't know whether to feel insulted or touched. Bill could ask Eric for the moon and his first thought had been me. Had I done 'enough' for Eric? Of course. But I'd also had my fill of Bill. Rescuing him from his cheating ex left me with more aches than I could count. Just touching the memory made me feel awful.

If I let Bill push Eric out of my life, I'd be in his debt. That wasn't a place I wanted to be.

I looked up to find Eric watching me, sort of smiling. "Sookie?" I didn't know if he could read the reluctance on my face, or if he just knew me that well.

I felt tired. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to give Eric a rap on the head.

I turned to Bill. I chose my words carefully. "I appreciate you coming back here." And I did. "But I run my own life." These days, it was a full-time job.

"That's it?" Bill said, and I nodded.

He seemed upset. He was at least miffed, if not outright angry.

Was I making a mistake, turning down his help? Maybe. But at least the mistake was my own.

* * *

Bill bounced back. He mentioned his tithe and, within seconds, he was haggling percentages with Eric. If I'd been less exhausted, I might have found their negotiation interesting. As it was, I was having trouble following the numbers game. I wanted to leave—get some water, use the facilities—but I knew Eric was set on having me as an anti-glamour buffer so I stayed put. It was a big enough step for Eric to talk to Bill. Tomorrow night, I could cut the safety net and force him to handle the situation alone.

You'd think they were settling a war between France and Germany the way they kept yapping. They finally reached some kind of agreement, which involved a lot of numbers and Bill's blanket absolution from ever having to put in hours at Fangtasia. It was all contingent on "successful completion," e.g. Eric not dying.

After the dust settled, Bill decided that he should leave for New Orleans immediately. The sooner he reached the city, the better. Now that the sun had set, Eric was expecting a call from the Queen. If he didn't hear from her, he'd reach out himself. Either way, he'd explain that he was sending Bill in his place. If all went well, Bill would arrive just after midnight, early afternoon by vampire standards.

Bill said he'd drop us at my house, but I told him that I had to visit Jason's. As I was without a car, Bill offered to give me a ride on his way out of town. I turned him down. I wasn't excited about alone time with Bill. It was a short drive to Jason's—five minutes tops—but it was more than enough time to unearth subjects I didn't want to revisit.

I decided to walk to Jason's. It would be an opportunity to clear my head. His house was less than a mile from Bill's, through the woods.

I said goodbye to Bill and Eric and started across the yard. I watched as Bill pulled out of the driveway. His headlights disappeared into the darkness. He'd hadn't discovered that Eric and Pam had stolen his sedan. Thank God for small blessings.

I was halfway to the tree line when I heard footfalls behind me. Heavy footfalls. I turned.

Eric.

What did I have to do for two seconds of solitude? "Yes?"

"You shouldn't walk in the woods alone." He fell into step beside me.

Walking alone was exactly my plan. I wasn't thrilled that Eric had decided to tag along. I needed to ask Hadley about the locket, and it would be disastrous if he overheard anything. But I'd only raise his suspicions by insisting that he leave. It wasn't as if he could come inside Jason's house, anyway. Technically, Eric was still in hiding. Not that he acted like it.

Eric wasn't very good at cooling his heels.

"It's going to be boring," I tried, as we passed the front gate of the Sweet Home Cemetery. "Family stuff." Eric had limited interest in events that didn't revolve around him.

"I'm only walking you." Eric raised an eyebrow. "I'd think you didn't want me there."

I didn't. But acknowledging it would only pique his interest. "Suit yourself."

We walked in silence for a few moments, then Eric said, "You are very brave, Sookie."

My danger-meter binged. Eric never said anything nice without a motive. No wonder he'd decided to walk with me. He wanted something. I didn't have the patience to play dumb. "Eric, what's up?"

He needed no more invitation. "When you get your car back, I would like you to take me to West Memphis."

At least he'd phrased it more like a question than a demand.

"West Memphis?" All I knew was plain old Memphis. What were the chances Eric wanted to see Bubba's former digs? "You want to check out the Jungle Room?"

Eric glared. "West Memphis, Arkansas," he said and passed me a card. The witch's driver's license. I couldn't read it in the darkness, but Eric made it easy for me. "It's where she lives. Lived." He corrected himself.

"Her brother's from Arkansas." Which made sense, since they seemed to work as a team. "It was on his checks." I didn't remember the city. It could have been West Memphis.

"Good," Eric said, as if we were decided.

As soon as he gave the affirmative—with that air of finality—I regretted mentioning Mark. I wasn't sure about this whole road trip idea. Eric was supposed to be in hiding, after all. "Does anyone know you up there?"

"There are not many vampires in Arkansas," Eric said. "And the court is in Little Rock."

Eric was answering my question without really answering. Which told me, yes, he knew vampires in Arkansas. So yes, going would be a bad idea.

"I'm guessing West Memphis is near real Memphis." Just a wild supposition. "Memphis is a pretty big city." With a lot of people, and probably a lot of vampires. A lot of chances for Eric to be recognized.

"I only know one man from Memphis," Eric said, and smirked.

Har har.

But once I thought about it, it stopped being funny. "Eric, what if Bubba's human?"

The smirk dropped off Eric's face. "We'd have a lot of explaining to do." He paused. "He's still in Mississippi, as far as I know."

Let's hope he was safe. An average person might stare at Eric, but not because they recognized him. Bubba was another story entirely.

By now, I could see Jason's lights in the distance. Eric and I were rounding his pond. As we picked our way past the dock, Eric stopped dead. "Sookie, you smell that?"

"Nope." I sniffed the air, experimentally. Nothing but pine.

Eric stepped onto the dock. I followed. When we reached the end, he crouched down. "Here."

I knelt next to him. I stared. It looked exactly like a dock. "I can't see a thing."

Eric took my hand and placed it on the edge of the pier. The wood felt crusty. "Dried blood."

Ew. "You can smell that?"

He shrugged. "Habit."

If Eric could smell blood, I bet Pam could too. It was creepy. Decidedly un-human. I shelved that away to think about later. The really important thing was that my brother was missing and there was blood near his house. I shivered. "God, let Jason be okay."

"Go," Eric said. "Talk to your cousin. I'll wait and walk you home. Unless you'd rather get a ride in that ridiculous limousine."

The woods near Jason's house suddenly felt a lot less familiar. "I'll ask Hadley to drive."

Eric nodded. "I'll wait anyway. Just in case."

It was probably overkill, but I appreciated his caution. "Watch out." Eric could take care of himself, but still.

He smiled. "I always do."

Wasn't that the truth?

I walked around the house to Jason's front door, trying to keep my fear in check. Maybe the blood was left over from hunting season. Eric hadn't mentioned if it were animal or human. Maybe he couldn't tell.

But why would Jason take a kill onto his dock?

* * *

As soon as I rang the doorbell, Hadley appeared. She looked as upset as I felt. "Thank god you're here." She hustled me inside.

"Have you heard from Jason?"

She shook her head. I was just about to tell her about the blood, when an unfamiliar voice said, "You must be Sookie."

I turned around.

A man with white-blond hair stood in the kitchen doorway. He was no taller than I was, but it didn't stop me from feeling intimidated. Just by looking at him, you could tell he meant business and it was weird, almost unsettling, because he didn't look a day over 17. His features were more boy than man.

His clothes were slick. Too nice, for someone his age.

Between the outfit, the don't mess with me vibe, and what I knew of Hadley, I had a sinking feeling that this kid was a drug dealer.

I wasn't thrilled that he knew my name.

"Hi," I said to him, because I wasn't stupid. When this guy talked to you, he expected a response. Then, I turned to my fool cousin. "You have guests?" Hadley had mentioned her girlfriend, but I had no idea who this man was and zero interest in finding out. I was sure Jason would be just as pissed when he found out that Hadley had invited strangers into his home.

"Sookie, this is Andre." Hadley paused. She seemed unsure. "My friend."

Andre nodded at me. "Pleasure." He was polite, which made him seem even creepier.

"I've got to use the bathroom. You two get acquainted." Hadley said, and darted up the stairs.

I was not going to let her leave me alone with a teenage gangster. "What about Jason?"

"Give me a sec." Hadley disappeared. I thought about following, but then I felt a prickling on the back of my neck. I turned around. Hadley's friend was staring at me. His eyes were such a pale blue, they seemed almost colorless.

 _Sookie Stackhouse_ , he thought.

_Sookie Stackhouse, Sookie Stackhouse, Sookie Stackhouse._

I'm pretty good at not reacting to what I hear in people's heads. But this guy was thinking straight at me, almost like he was doing it on purpose. I stared at him. I couldn't stop myself. Surprise was probably written all over my face.

His smile widened. "It's very nice to meet you, Sookie," he said. "Hadley will be back soon."

He walked out of the room.

Was it possible that Hadley had told her friend what I could do? I couldn't see why she would have or why he'd believe her, but I couldn't otherwise explain what had just happened.

I should have let Andre leave. But I was curious. Maybe even pissed.

So I tailed him into Jason's living room.

Andre was leaning over the couch, whispering to someone with red hair. When I walked into the room, they both looked up. I instantly regretted not waiting in the hall.

Andre's friend was a woman. If he looked young, she seemed even younger. She couldn't have been more than 15. Even though she didn't really resemble Andre, the two of them had such a similar bearing I figured that they had to be related. Maybe even brother and sister.

"Hi." My voice came out too loud. Nerves. "I'm Sookie Stackhouse, Hadley's cousin."

Andre's sister looked straight at me. Her face was expressionless. It reminded me of Eric. "Hello, Sookie."

The two of them had to be dealers. I'd never seen a normal teenager with eyes that cold.

A phone rang. I thanked my lucky stars, because it got the woman's eyes off me. She reached into her purse and fished out a cell. Glanced at the caller ID. Showed it to Andre. He shrugged, as if to say, do what you want.

She flipped it open. "Where are you?" During the silence, her brows knitted together. Her eyes flickered to me, then she stood up and walked out of the room. As she went, I caught the beginning of her reply, "Why Bill?"

A chill went down my spine.

Was it possible?

Andre was watching me. "Hadley speaks highly of you." He was thinking about Hadley and me. Light and dark. A matched set.

"I need air," I said.

I left, without waiting for Andre's reply. I could feel my heart thumping. I walked to the back door, but as soon as I was outside, I broke into a run. I nearly tripped over myself in my haste to reach the dock.

Eric stood at the water's edge.

He was on his cell.

"Who are you talking to?" I asked.

He held up a finger to silence me.

Under normal circumstances, I would have waited for him to finish. But this was too important. "Who are you talking to?"

Eric put his hand over the receiver. "Who do you think?"

Then, he froze. His eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder.

I turned.

Andre had followed me outside.

His sister stood a few paces behind, phone at her ear. She was looking over my shoulder at Eric.

She lowered her cell.

"So," she said. "You too?"


	14. Soft Sell

"So," she said. "You too."

Eric inclined his head. "Your majesty." It wasn't quite a bow, but the gesture of submission was unmistakable. In any other circumstances, it would have seemed goofy. You rarely see a giant of a man kowtowing to a little girl. But the girl—no, the Queen—had such an air of power, submitting seemed like the only reasonable thing to do.

She wasn't my Queen, but I was wondering if I shouldn't curtsy. Just to be on the safe side.

The Queen watched Eric, unblinking. I couldn't tell if she was satisfied by his show of deference or if she was waiting to sic Andre on us. Andre looked ready to pounce. It was obvious from the way he hovered near the Queen, tense, that he was her attack dog. I wasn't sure what such a little guy could do against Eric, but I didn't want to find out.

Neither, it seemed, did Eric. As the silence stretched, Eric inclined his head again, for good measure.

"Your people?" the Queen asked.

"Are like us," said Eric.

The Queen turned to Andre and sighed. It was the first remotely human thing I'd seen her do. I found it more disconcerting than anything else. Emotion looked strange on her.

The Queen was too far away for me to read her thoughts and I was almost too scared to try. I'd thought Eric's mind was frightening, but this woman was a different breed.

She nodded at Jason's house. "Come," she said to Eric. Then, she looked straight at me. I wanted to run and hide. "Bring the telepath." As she turned to go, she something to Andre in a foreign language. I'm no expert, but it sounded French. Or French-like.

I looked at Eric. He was decidedly not looking at me, which confirmed my suspicions. "You knew?"

He was quiet for a second. "Not exactly." His voice was low and he wasn't making eye contact, unusual for him. I realized he didn't want the Queen to know we were talking to each other.

'Not exactly' left a lot open, but Eric didn't elaborate further. To be fair, this wasn't really the time for a chat.

The Queen went. Andre stayed. Making sure we didn't bolt, I guess, although we'd be stupid to disobey a direct order.

As soon as the Queen turned her back, Eric put his hand on my shoulder. He pointed me towards Jason's house. I thought the manhandling was overkill and was about to tell him so, until I realized that he was using it as a pretense to draw me closer to him. "If she asks, say you are with Bill." Again, his voice was low. He didn't want Andre to overhear.

"Why?" Why would he ask me to lie?

"A hunch." Something close to pity flashed across Eric's face. It frightened me more than the Queen. "We'll talk later."

He nudged me and we started moving in earnest. Eric kept his hand on my shoulder, under the guise of escorting me. For once, I was glad to have him close. His hand felt warm. Familiar, even. At least more familiar than anything else in the vicinity.

Andre fell into step behind us. We weren't quite prisoners, but I didn't feel free either.

Inside Jason's, the Queen was waiting. She was flanked by two giant men, who looked like they'd born south of the year 1000. Their faces were pitted by pockmarks and their long hair had gone out of style with the Renaissance. They were so tall their heads scraped Jason's ceiling and so broad they seemed to fill the hall between the two of them. Eric was a big man, but he suddenly seemed a lot smaller.

"Sigebert, Wybert." Eric nodded to each of the mountains in turn.

I'd never heard names like that in my life. Sigebert and Wybert.

One of the mountains—I wasn't sure if it was Sigebert or Wybert—stepped between the Queen and Eric. The other stood in front of the back door as soon as Andre shut it. Their message was clear: don't try anything and don't leave.

I felt more like a prisoner by the second. I chanced a look at Eric. His face betrayed nothing, but his hand had tightened on my shoulder.

Hadley appeared at the top of the stairs. 'Sorry' was written all over her face. I'd seen that look a thousand times before. Of course, our current mess was a lot worse than anything she'd gotten into in high school.

How did Hadley know the Queen? Why was she mixed up with vampires, period? Let alone vamps as dangerous as these?

I wasn't sure that I wanted to know the answers.

Hadley was staring at me. No, not at me—at my shoulder. At Eric's hand. He was still holding me. I looked at the Queen. She was watching us too.

Just like that, Eric let go. Quick, like I'd burned him. He pushed me forward, as if he were presenting me. He was not happy with himself.

The two of us could start a club. I was pissed at him too. Did he have my back or had he cut me loose? I felt like he'd thrown me to the wolves.

Eric was wondering how long the Queen had known about me. I slammed up my shields. I couldn't afford to be distracted by his thoughts. I was treading water as is.

"What's waiting for me in New Orleans?" Eric asked.

"A cell," the Queen said. "Temporary. Bill informed me of your interest in the telepath." With that, Eric's eyes flicked to me. "I see his concern was not unwarranted." Eric looked back at the Queen faster than you could say hot potato. "I couldn't risk you happening across us."

Per usual, there was a lot of talk of the telepath without the telepath being included in the conversation. For once, the telepath was okay with that. In fact, the telepath would love to leave the conversation entirely. Out of the room. Out of house, even, but I didn't want to dream too high.

What would happen if I spoke? The prospect terrified me. But if I were going to weasel out of this six-way staring contest, there was no other way around it.

I cleared my throat.

Every eye in the room snapped to me.

I took a deep breath. There was no backing out now.

"It seems like you all have catching up to do," I said. "Why don't I leave you to it?" I pointed at Jason's kitchen to let them know I wasn't a flight risk. "If you need me," and I so hoped they didn't, "I'll be in there."

None of them said a word.

At least they weren't saying no.

I remembered my manners. "Anyone want something?" After all, I was escaping to the kitchen.

They stared at me. Blank. I decided took that as a no. "Okay. See you later." It sounded lame, even to my ears, but I didn't care, as long as it got me out of the hall.

I started towards the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Queen nod to Hadley. It was an unmistakable order. Go babysit.

I walked into the kitchen, my cousin a few steps behind me. Hadley shut the door.

Thank god.

For a moment, I enjoyed the silence.

"You want a snack?" The two of us had a lot to talk about, but I wasn't ready to face any of it just yet. Let alone on an empty stomach.

"Maybe a beer."

I tried to wipe judgment off my face. Hadley was of age. She was entitled. That being said, it hardly seemed like the time. I was struggling to hold onto my wits as it was.

I opened the fridge. Jason, of course, kept it well stocked with Bud.

Hadley reached around me to take a beer. She popped off the top using the magnetized opener Jason stuck to the front of his freezer.

"You want any food?" Drinking on an empty stomach did not seem wise, under the circumstances.

"He got ice cream?" Hadley asked.

I checked. As soon as I looked in the freezer, I felt a sinking sense of déjà vu. Last night, Hadley had eaten me out of Rocky Road. Bacon too. What she'd been griping about at my house?

"All liquid diet?" She hadn't meant a juice cleanse.

I was surprised that it had taken me this long to put it together.

Hadley just looked at me. Poker face.

That, more than anything, confirmed my suspicions.

"How long?"

"A year," she said. "Just about."

She took a long pull on her beer.

I wanted her to say more, but she just stared at me.

"Why?" slipped out before I could think. I knew vampires started off as people, but this felt different. I'd played dress up with Hadley. We'd grown up together. I couldn't wrap my mind around it.

Her eyes flashed. "Why?" She sounded offended. "Why not? I'll be young forever."

I guessed that was true. I couldn't tell her I was happy for her, because I wasn't. Hadley had lied about the reason she'd come back to Bon Temps, but that hardly seemed important under the circumstances. I wondered if she'd even had a husband.

Hadley was a vampire. My own cousin. And here I'd thought I had an ally of sorts, another human against all the vamps.

I didn't know how our grandmother would feel. I didn't know how I should feel. As I thought about it, I realized how I felt didn't matter. This was Hadley's life. "Are you happy?"

"Of course." She said it like she was trying to prove something.

"Well, good." I didn't know what more to say.

As we looked at each other, the fight slid out of her. "I love Sophie-Anne."

She obviously meant it. I could tell by the way she said her girlfriend's name, like it was painful. Some days, that was how I felt about Bill. I felt better knowing she hadn't lied about Sophie-Anne. There'd been some truth to that moment we shared in my kitchen.

Sophie was a French name. I felt a sinking sensation.

"Sophie-Anne is the Queen?" I couldn't imagine loving her—she was terrifying. Hadley was either very brave or very foolish. Maybe both.

"You really are clueless." Hadley said it like it was something to be ashamed of, but I preferred it that way. There were some things I didn't need to know.

And there were some things I did. Now that I knew Hadley was a vampire, the pieces of the mystery had begun to click together. But I needed confirmation. "What happened at that motel?"

"What motel?" Hadley hadn't yet mastered the vampire poker face. Fear and annoyance flashed across her features before she settled on disinterest.

I didn't want to go through her thoughts, but I would, if I had to. "I found your locket on Mark Stonebrook's body."

No reaction. I kept watching her.

Finally, she cracked. "Look, I wasn't there." I didn't believe her. "We pooled our silver."

"So it wasn't you?" It me feel better. I wasn't an idiot—if Hadley was a vampire, she could kill, and if she was dating the Queen of Louisiana, she probably had. But there was a difference between suspecting and knowing. I didn't want to think of Hadley as a murderer.

"Andre lost his temper," said a voice behind me. "It was an unfortunate accident."

I turned. The Queen stood in the doorway.

My first instinct was to bolt, but I managed to keep my feet planted.

She gave me a brilliant smile. "I think we've gotten off to a bad start," she said. "Forgive me."

So one minute I was 'the telepath' and the next she was asking for forgiveness? I felt the whiplash. But when the Queen said jump, you hopped to it. I'd learned that much in the 20 minutes we'd known each other. I'd be dumb to hold a grudge.

And I'd be dumber to forget what she was capable of.

At any rate, I nodded. "Sure."

"I'm Sophie-Anne," she said.

"Sookie Stackhouse." She already knew, but it seemed like the polite thing to do.

"May I?" Sophie-Anne nodded at the kitchen table. She was asking my permission to sit.

I nodded and caught a wave of jealousy from Hadley. She was looking from the Queen to me, like she couldn't believe what was going on.

"Please." The Queen motioned at the table. I sat.

"Hadley." I wanted an ally. Even a poor one. I nodded at the chair next to me, but she shook her head and retreated to the corner of the kitchen.

Sophie-Anne glanced after her. When she saw the beer, she gave Hadley the look of disapproval I'd suppressed. Hadley glowered like a petulant child and took a long drink.

The Queen didn't spare her another glance. Instead, she turned to me.

"Eric says you can read my mind."

Thanks, Eric.

But since my nickname was apparently 'the telepath,' it wasn't exactly a secret.

"Yes." This was a woman who didn't suffer fools. My plan was to be straight with her and hope for the same.

"I ask that you don't," she said. "To the best that you're able."

Her offer was clear. If I stayed on my side of the fence, I could keep dealing with 'Sophie-Anne' as opposed to 'the Queen.'

It seemed like a fair trade.

It impressed me that she'd made the offer even though she had no way of knowing that I'd live up to my end of the bargain. She was giving me the benefit of the doubt.

It surprised me. It raised her in my estimation. The least I could do was show her the same consideration. Since she'd given me enough credit to take me at my word, I'd respect her privacy. I couldn't exactly say that I'd started to like her, but I wished that Eric, for instance, had been this courteous.

"Okay," I said. The deal was fair.

She smiled. It made her look incredibly young and sweet. I knew she was neither, but in that moment, it was easy to forget.

Unlike Eric, Sophie-Anne wasn't a broadcaster. In fact, she seemed inwardly directed. But I could feel her mind and I knew I could have reached out and grabbed her thoughts if I wanted to. I honestly didn't. I was in enough trouble as it was.

When the smile dropped off her face, I knew we were on to business. Sophie-Anne looked at me intently. If she hadn't been human, I would have thought she was trying to glamour me.

"Sookie, I need your help."

It figured.


	15. The Living Dead

Andre, the Queen, Eric and I gathered around the kitchen table. It felt like a weird dinner party. I fixed chips and salsa (the red kind, of course) but none of the ex-vampires touched it. When Sophie-Anne started her story, I didn't feel much like eating myself.

"Last week, Waldo's corpse was dumped outside my compound in New Orleans," she said.

That meant something to everyone but me. "Who's Waldo?"

"A vampire," Eric said, and a chill went down my spine. After their final deaths, vampires flaked away, leaving a dust-like residue. If Waldo's corpse had been found, he must have been human at the time of death.

"Waldo was under my protection." Sophie-Anne didn't seem to be big on emotions, but under the poker face, she actually seemed pissed.

"The Sheriffs weren't informed?" Eric said it like he was merely inquiring, but I could tell he wasn't pleased at being kept out of the loop.

Sophie-Anne said nothing. Andre looked at Eric, unblinking.

I realized Eric should have kept his mouth shut.

"At the time, I believed it was an attack on me alone," Sophie-Anne finally said.

No one had much to say to that. She'd been mistaken, obviously.

"We inquired into his death," Sophie-Anne continued. "He was last seen at a hotel, in the company of a woman registered under the name Stonebrook."

"We tracked her to your area," Andre piggybacked. "But before we could take measures, we were likewise affected."

The switchover had happened on New Year's Eve. One of the biggest party nights of the year, especially in New Orleans.

Eric seemed to be following my train of thought. "Witnesses?"

"None remaining," said Andre.

That made me feel ill, but Eric didn't so much as blink.

Whatever happened to those poor 'witnesses' couldn't have been far off Mark's fate. I flashed back to the motel. I shut my eyes, not that it would do much good.

"How did you find Marnie?" I asked.

As one, they looked at me. I immediately regretted speaking. It seemed as if I were supposed to be seen and not heard. It pissed me off, but not enough to make me stupid.

Then, Sophie-Anne remembered herself. She forced a smile. "Money," she said. "Credit card. Andre has a friend in the police department."

I doubted friendship had been the motivating factor.

"We found the man. We wanted this one to read him," Andre nodded at me. "But it turned out he didn't matter. His sister's the one with real power."

Andre was talking about Marnie in the present tense.

Did they not know she'd died?"

I realized that Mark probably hadn't known. From his point of view, Marnie had disappeared at the mall and never come back.

My heart was pounding. I couldn't be the one to tell them the truth. It had to be Eric. The vampires acted like I'd crossed a line when I asked a simple question. I couldn't imagine their reaction if I was the bearer of bad news.

"He said she disappeared," Andre said.

"He didn't say much." There was a hint of reproach in Sophie-Anne's voice.

I waited for her to elaborate. Nothing came. I hated to listen in on the vampires, but this was a sink or swim moment. If they even suspected that we'd killed Marnie, we had to come clean. And fast.

I dropped my shields. Eric's thoughts pressed at me—he remembered hitting Marnie with his car, go figure. I pushed him aside and focused on Andre.

His thoughts were jumpy. Images. I recognized the motel room. Sophie-Anne had said that Mark wasn't a Chatty Cathy, but apparently, Andre lost his temper before Mark had a chance to say much of anything. I saw his face. A flash of red.

I pulled out of Andre's mind. It was all I could take. Mark's body had been bad enough. I couldn't stomach watching the murder.

When I came back to myself, Andre was staring at me. Did he know I'd been eavesdropping? I had to play it cool, but the longer he looked at me, the harder it was to keep my fear in check.

"Sookie, we want you to read the witch," Sophie-Anne said. "When we find her."

That was going to be hard, for obvious reasons.

I glanced at Eric. This was his news to tell. Since the Queen didn't like it when I spoke, I was afraid to cough up bad news. Eric met my eyes. I couldn't read his expression.

Sophie-Anne noticed. "Eric?"

As much as he might want to, Eric couldn't stall the Queen. He took a breath. Readying himself. It was a human gesture, and it looked strange on him.

"The witch approached me the night before it happened. She demanded a cut of my business. I refused." Eric sounded matter-of-fact, almost as if he was relating something that had happened to somebody else. "Last night, Sookie suggested we meet her in a public place, on the pretense of continuing negotiations. She volunteered to listen in."

"Good." The Queen smiled at me like I was her star pupil. I didn't know what to make of it, but I forced myself to smile back.

"The witch discovered us. Pursued. We lost her." Eric paused, again.

Here it was. The moment of truth.

"I haven't seen her since."

I thought I'd misheard him. Then, I realized that Eric had lied

My heart sped up. I couldn't look at him. I tried to keep a poker face, but I wasn't nearly as good at it as he was.

I could feel Sophie-Anne's eyes on me. She knew I was upset.

Shit.

"Sookie is afraid that the witch will track me to her house," Eric said. "She is too polite to tell you herself."

Afraid of the witch? Try afraid that Eric had lost his mind. Why the hell was he lying?

Amazingly, the Queen bought it. She smiled again. It was almost as if I were a child and I'd done something sweet. "Sookie, you've got nothing to worry about," she said. "We'll keep you safe."

Keep me safe? If my safety were their concern, they'd book me a ticket out of state.

"She's frightened," Andre said, as if I were some kind of exotic species.

"Of course I am." I hadn't meant it to come out so snappy, but I could hardly unsay it.

The Queen laughed. Eric smiled too. He seemed relaxed. Too relaxed. Our gentlemen's agreement be damned, I needed to know what the hell was going on. I dropped my shields.

Eric was thinking about Bill and me. He wondered if he were smiling too much. If the Queen would kill him.

So, he was doing about as well as I was.

It was no wonder Eric was on edge. Lying to the Queen wasn't something I could imagine being comfortable with, even after 1000 years of practice.

But I knew Eric had to have a reason for lying. Deciding between him and the Queen might be a devil's bargain, but it wasn't a real choice. I had to go with the devil I knew. I had to trust him.

For now.

"Any idea where she might be?" Eric was walking a razor's edge. I hoped he knew what he was doing.

"She couldn't have gone far," Andre said.

Yeah, because she was dead.

Eric played it cool. "Why not?"

* * *

"Her car keys were at the motel." Andre flicked on the light in Jason's garage. There was an unfamiliar station wagon inside. The trunk was open. Inside was an unzipped suitcase, contents strewn everywhere. "We have her money, clothes, everything. We hoped to find a spell book, but there's nothing more notable than a passport."

I studied the clothes spilling out of the suitcase. Marnie sure owned a lot of black. Black dresses, black slacks, black socks. Well, she was a witch. Black was part of the uniform.

As I looked around for a black pointed hat, a pop of color caught my eye. It was half covered by what looked like nightgown. I leaned into the trunk and pushed the clothes aside.

It was a romance novel. The cover featured a swooning woman and a blond guy who looked more than a little bit like Eric, wearing nothing but britches and a smirk. HisLordship's Lover looped across the cover in fancy script.

Marnie hadn't struck me as a romance kind of girl.

I picked up the book.

Andre cleared his throat. If his mind hadn't told me that I'd raised his suspicion, his face would have confirmed it.

"I haven't read this one yet." I summoned my best crazy Sookie smile.

Eric watched me, intent, but my answer seemed to placate Andre, who smirked.

Good. Let him think I was dim.

If I were Marnie, I would have put whatever I didn't want found in the last place anyone would look. And who would bother searching a romance novel?

Besides me, that is.

I opened the book. To a sex scene. His Lordship's manhood wasn't what I'd been after, so I turned the page. Lordship and Lucinda had moved from the bedroom to the bath. I wasn't sure what I'd been looking for, but the sex lives of imaginary aristocracy wasn't it.

As Eric and Andre started discussing where the witch might have gone, I thumbed the romance.

I didn't know Marnie from Adam, but I wouldn't have pegged her as a bodice-ripper enthusiast. And his Lordship certainly ripped a lot of bodices, not all of them belonging to Lucinda. I was about to give up and toss the book back into Marnie's clothes when my thumb caught a piece of paper rougher than the rest.

A photograph was stuck between the pages.

I wanted to look at the picture, but I didn't want to attract attention. I glanced at the ex-vampires. Andre had his back to me, Eric met my eyes. He nodded. The gesture was slight, but unmistakable. Keep doing what you're doing.

I didn't need his approval. But the gesture made me feel marginally better. It made me feel like I had an ally, however flawed.

I wasn't in this alone.

I opened the book wider, so I could get a clear look at the photograph. It was a group portrait of men and women in old-timey uniforms. A generation younger than Gran, but older than my parents. Maybe the 1960s. Their hair curled in funny directions and the group was integrated.

From the surroundings—marble and pillars— it looked like the photo had been taken in a hotel or grand restaurant. The women were dressed like maids. The men, valets.

I flipped the picture over. A note was penciled on the back.

Front row. 4 & 5 from L. Mom and Octavia.

I counted from the left. Two faces stared up at me. One white, one black. Mom and Octavia. The picture quality was poor. Their features were no more than smudges.

Why had the picture had been kept inside the romance novel? With Mark and Marnie gone, I wasn't sure that we'd ever know.

As I looked at the page the photograph marked, my heart nearly stopped.

Someone had taped a scrap of folded notebook paper inside the book.

I unfolded the note.

It was a list of ingredients and instructions. The penciled title read 'The Living Dead.'

* * *

I didn't tell Andre.

And I didn't tell the Queen.

I didn't trust them. I didn't really trust Eric, or even Pam, but I knew them, and even liked them more-or-less. Andre and Sophie-Anne were entirely alien. I could tell they were on their best behavior. Being able to class it as that told me how tenuous our truce was.

Contrary to my expectations, 'The Living Dead' was not a recipe for making vampires human.

That being said, it looked remarkably like a recipe. The spell called for about 20 kinds of herbs, grave dirt, and—I shuddered when I got to the last ingredient—human remains. It was also heavily annotated. One of the Stonebrooks had crossed out ingredients, and penciled in substitutes or different amounts.

I had to read the instructions twice to get the general gist. "The Living Dead" was séance how-to and, frankly, it was pretty grisly. If the witch had a piece of the dead person she wished to speak with (ugh), the spell enabled her to conjure spectral face time. No more than a few minutes, and it was by no means a sure thing—"some of the dead have moved on," the instructions said, managing to be both cryptic and matter-of-fact.

It didn't take a lot of brainpower to solve the mystery behind the photograph. Judging from the annotations, one of the Stonebrooks had attempted the spell. I would bet anything "Mom" had been the person they'd wanted to reach.

It made Marnie seem human. Honestly, it made me feel sorry for her. If I'd had a chance to speak with Gran, I'd take it in a heartbeat.

On the other hand, I hoped that Gran had 'moved on.' Even if that made her unreachable for now.

Andre didn't notice when I slipped the romance novel into my purse. He'd searched the car with Eric a second time and found nothing.

When we reentered the house, the Queen waited at the kitchen table. She gave the Eric and Andre a look and, like well-trained dogs, they sat. I was left standing like an idiot.

"Sookie," the Queen said. "Join us."

It wasn't a request. I took a seat next to Eric and as far from Andre as possible, for all the good it would do in such a small kitchen.

Hadley was nowhere to be seen. She'd been gone since the Queen had called her war council. I wondered if Hadley was hiding of her own free will or if she'd been told to keep herself scarce. I was about to ask after her when the Queen turned to Eric.

"Who's responsible?"

She wanted to know who the witch was working for. It was a question Eric had been chewing over as well. "No vampire would do this," Eric said.

The Queen's eyes flickered to Andre. Then back to Eric. "Really." She didn't sound inquisitive. She sounded like she was testing him.

Eric's face was blank, but that was pretty much par for the course for him. "If a vampire contracted this spell, he'd expose himself to risk," Eric said.

Andre looked at Sophie-Anne. His face was blank, but I was listening to him, and knew he agreed with Eric. I would have kicked Eric under the table to let him know he was on the right tack, if I hadn't thought it would draw attention.

"I'm in negotiations to marry Peter Threadgill," the Queen said.

No wonder Hadley had been upset. My cousin was the jealous type and I couldn't imagine that she'd accept a rival.

The name obviously meant something to Eric. There was a significant pause in which everyone seemed to be exchanging information by glances alone, except for me, who had no idea what was going on.

Eric noticed. "Threadgill is the King of Arkansas," he supplied, for my benefit.

"The witches were from Arkansas," I said.

Sophie-Anne looked at me. "Indeed." She smiled again, and I didn't like it very much.

I should have kept my mouth shut.

"Perhaps you should send someone," Eric said.

"Perhaps," the Queen said.

Andre frowned. He gave the Queen a significant look.

"Perhaps not," she said.

Silence. Then, "Bill was unaffected." Eric paused, as if he was considering his words. "Sookie thought to recall him."

For some reason, that made the Queen smile. "Bill says you made him very happy."

A chill went down my spine. I remembered what Eric had said on the lawn—If she asks, say you're with Bill.

"He makes me happy too," I said.

As soon as I was out from under the Queen's thumb, Eric had a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

I was surprised they let us leave. I would have thought we'd be on a leash all night. Maybe they wanted to talk freely without Eric overhearing. Honestly, a debrief was what I wanted too, even though I knew I had more questions than Eric was willing to answer.

As we were without a vehicle, Eric asked for the keys to the witch's car. Andre said no, but he offered Hadley's limousine, which had apparently been their party bus on New Year's Eve. Sophie-Anne said goodnight. We agreed to meet the next morning, and Andre hustled us out the door. I still hadn't seen Hadley.

As Eric backed the limousine out of Jason's driveway—exceptionally slowly—I asked the question that had been eating at me. "Why is the Queen of Louisiana interested in my love life?"

"What did you find in that book?"

Me first. "Why is the Queen—"

"Ask Bill." Eric looked upset. I was about to press further, when there was a bump. My teeth rattled in my head and the back half car slumped downward. Eric had overshot the driveway and backed the limo into a drainage ditch.

"Get out," he said. "I need you to direct me."

It was a convenient way to avoid the Bill issue, and I wondered if he'd driven into that hole on purpose. But intentional or not, our car was in a ditch, so I waved Eric out of the driveway. It took a good ten minutes when it should have taken five. Eric kept glaring at me in the mirrors and telling me to stand where he could see me.

As soon as we were free of the ditch, I got back in the car. I opened my mouth to ask about Bill, but Eric cut me off. "I can't stop you from reading my mind," he said. "But I think you'd feel better if you asked him directly."

If anything, that made me feel more unsettled. "This is why you told me to say I'm still with him?"

"Tell me about the book."

"Not yet." I'd take a page from his book. Eric might be mum on Bill, I still had a whopper of a question. "Why did you lie to the Queen?"

"I'm replaceable." His bluntness startled me. "That's not something you have to worry about."

I wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort me. It didn't feel that way.

I was surprised when Eric kept talking. "The Queen believes we need that witch to break the spell." He hesitated. "I am not sure she's incorrect."

I didn't know what to say.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't share my reservations with Pam."

"Sure." Pam had enough to worry about as it was.

"Killing her was a mistake." Eric looked grim.

Maybe. But it was done. Eric wasn't usually one for dwelling on might have beens, which told me how low he was feeling. "It was an accident."

Eric shrugged. "She's dead, regardless." He turned to me. "The book."

Fair was fair. I passed him the old-timey photograph. He took his eyes off the road to glance at it. "I care, why?"

I'd hoped that he would have more to say than that. "First, Marnie's mother is in it. And second, it was bookmarking a spell called The Living Dead."

Eric was quiet. "A spell against vampires?"

"No. A séance kind of thing. Talking to ghosts. But I'm wondering if it could have been repurposed."

He wasn't following. "Explain."

"Well, the basic idea is the same, right? Making the dead live again?"

Eric looked at me. The intensity of his gaze freaked me out. "We need to find a witch."

"Yes." On that we were agreed.

"We also need to tell the Queen."

"You tell her." I wanted to keep my interactions to a minimum.

I heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. My driveway. I'd been so wrapped up in our talk, I hadn't realized we were home.

"Are we going to Arkansas?" I didn't have the energy to unpick the significant stares between Andre, the Queen and Eric.

Eric shook his head no. "If anyone goes, it's Bill. Andre is right to council caution. If Threadgill, or any vampire, realized Louisiana is compromised—"

He didn't finish his thought. He didn't need to. I knew the stakes.

Speaking of Bill, his sedan was parked outside my home. Eric must have recalled him from New Orleans.

Eric noticed me noticing. "I asked him here."

It was fine with me. The last hour felt like a lifetime. Bill had to be brought up to speed. And, apparently, the two of us had a lot to discuss.

Eric parked the limo. He sat for a second, then killed the engine. He looked at me. He was acting strange, but I didn't have the energy to puzzle it out. I reached for the door handle, but he hit the automatic locks.

He was such a jerk, sometimes. "What?"

Eric seemed to be chewing over something. "You will find out, regardless." He seemed to be talking more to himself than me.

"What?" I said again, and this time I was more worried than pissed. Anything that made Eric think so hard was probably something I wouldn't like.

Eric nodded over my shoulder. "Ask him why he came back to Bon Temps."

I turned. Bill was silhouetted in my doorway. He must have heard us drive in.

I already knew why Bill came back to Bon Temps. "Why would I do that?"

But Eric just got out of the car. Somewhere in there, he'd unlocked the doors. Bill started towards us.

I followed Eric. I was about to ask him what the hell was going on when he turned to Bill, "We saw the Queen. I couldn't say on the phone."

Bill stopped in his tracks.

That, more than anything, told me that Eric was on to something.

"She's like me," Eric said to Bill. Then, he turned to me. "I'll be inside."

I nodded. As Eric started towards the house, Bill approached. They had to pass each other. Neither said anything, but Eric gave Bill a long look I couldn't decode.

Bill stopped walking and turned to stare at Eric's back.

After a few seconds, he turned to me, "Sookie, sweetheart—"

I shook my head. I hadn't been his sweetheart lately. And I didn't want to get into anything until Eric was inside.

I watched Eric open the front door. I waited until he closed it behind him.

Was I going to take Eric's advice?

"You met the Queen?" Bill was after something, but I couldn't tell what.

I was through with thinking. I was too wiped to be anything other than direct. "Why did you come back to Bon Temps?"

Bill stared at me. I got nothing from his face. And, blessedly, nothing from his head. The silence felt good after non-stop shielding. Too good.

"Sookie." Bill hesitated. Why would he hesitate? "I've told you. Old Man Compton…"

He hesitated again.

"Sookie," Bill said, like it was an apology.

I felt sick. Shuddery all over. I knew. But I had to hear him say it.

A weird calm came over me.

I started over. "Why did you come back to Bon Temps?"


	16. The Ladies'

Warm hands brushed over me.

"No." I shut my eyes. I didn't want to see anyone. I'd locked my bedroom door for a reason.

"Tough." Pam's voice. Something warm near my lips. "Drink."

I shook my head. Never trust a vampire.

"It's tea." She pressed a cup to my mouth.

It was easier to drink than fight.

The liquid burned on the way down. I felt warm. Loose-limbed.

"Tea?" Never trust a vampire.

Pam didn't answer. My bed creaked and, the next thing I knew, she was lying beside me. "We didn't know."

"I don't care." But I really did. I'd have killed them both if they'd had an inkling.

I could feel her breath on the back of my neck.

I froze from the shock of it. All I could think of was Bill. How many times had we lain in bed together, just like this?

"Pam, stop."

She sat up, but didn't leave the bed.

The world started slipping away at the edges. I wondered what Pam had but in the drink. I couldn't stand being awake anymore. I closed my eyes. Willed sleep.

As I drifted off, I could have sworn she said, "It will get easier."

But how would she know?

* * *

I opened my eyes. The world was fuzzy, the sunlight blinding.

I sat in the back of an empty car. Seatbelt pulled tight. Last I remembered, I'd been in bed with Pam. Had I been kidnapped? Was that even possible?

I fumbled at the belt. It unhitched. I grabbed the lock. The door opened.

Thank god.

"Easy." A figure knelt next to me. My head was pounding. As my eyes adjusted to the light, the figure resolved itself into Eric. "You're okay."

I'd never been so relieved to see him.

"Where am I?"

"Don't worry about it." He pushed a strand of hair out of my face. His voice sounded almost gentle.

With every moment of wakefulness, my mind got clearer. I was on a ride I obviously hadn't signed up for. Worry was exactly I needed to do.

I tried again. "Where am I?"

"Arkansas," said Eric.

"Shut up." Sue me, but I was too upset for tact.

Eric pointed over his shoulder. We were at a rest stop and, sure enough, the pole out front flew the Arkansas state flag.

"Pam wanted a snack," he said, by way of explanation.

So Pam was along for the ride. Thank god. I couldn't take Eric alone. But there were two pursues in the seat next to me, neither of which looked familiar. Last I checked, Eric didn't carry a handbag.

"It's just the three of us?"

His silence was a clear enough no.

I caught sight of the interloper over his shoulder. "Hey Sookie."

Hadley was two steps out of the rest stop, wearing a miniskirt and a megawatt grin.

* * *

To an outside observer, it might have looked like Eric, Pam, and I were having a friendly chat at the rest stop Roy Rodgers. Just three travelers, kicking back over fries.

I'll give you the inside view.

I was a prisoner.

As soon as I saw Hadley, I left the car. I didn't scream. I didn't make a scene. But there was no way I was getting within five feet of her. I had forty dollars in my wallet. I figured it was enough for a bus ticket to Bon Temps. If not, it would more than bankroll a phone call to Jason.

Oh god. Jason. As of last night, he was missing.

I had to call him, whether I could afford the bus or not.

I was halfway to the payphone when Eric grabbed my arm and rerouted me to the food court. As he pushed me into a booth, Pam appeared out of nowhere to box me in.

"I need to call my brother."

"After we talk." Eric took the seat across from me.

What could I do? Wrestle Eric? Outrun Pam? Even human, they were a hell of a lot stronger than me. I thought about making eye contact with the state trooper at the next table and mouthing kidnapping, but I wasn't that desperate. Yet. Because if I ratted out Eric and Pam, how long would it be before the Queen caught up with me?

"You'll be back tomorrow," Eric was saying. "One day. That's all I need."

He said 'one day' like it was nothing, like he hadn't already stolen a week of my life. Not to mention that I was on the schedule for Merlotte's tonight. What were the odds that Eric had called Sam?

Zip. Zilch.

The kidnapping and the shift-missing weren't even the worst of it. I couldn't believe Eric had brought Hadley. Did he think I'd be happy to see her? How could I be, after last night? It wasn't just cruel; it was stupid. How would seeing Hadley make me anything other than unwilling to help him?

"Why is she here?" There was no need to specify she. Eric knew who I meant.

"Queen's orders," he said. Translation: shut up and stop asking questions.

Maybe Eric was trying to scare me by mentioning the Queen. Or, maybe it was the truth. Frankly, I didn't care. Not anymore.

"I quit."

Eric's face went blank.

I spelled it out for him. "No mindreading. No help."

He looked furious. "You can't just go."

Meaning – he wouldn't let me walk.

That might be true. But I couldn't live like this anymore. I'd never been so tired, in mind or body. I'd never been so humiliated. I thought I'd had my heart broken, but until last night, I hadn't understood what that meant.

I had to draw a line. I needed control of my life. I wouldn't be hurt again. I wouldn't be made a fool.

I stared him down.

He seemed rattled.

Good.

"Forget about me," he said. "You think the Queen will let you go?" He paused. "She went to such lengths to find you."

I felt like he'd slapped me. Even Pam flinched. "Eric."

He gave her a look—clearly, shut up. She sat back, cowed. It made my blood boil. Who did he think he was? He might be her maker, but he didn't own her.

He didn't own me, either.

Eric was as angry as I'd ever seen him. That was fine. I was just as mad, and I preferred fury to last night's despair. I needed to know what the hell was going on. I was sick of his selective retellings. I was through letting him call the shots. I needed control of my own life.

I dropped my shields. His thoughts flooded my head.

_Her brother. The woman from Dallas. The waitress. The shifter, maybe._

Jason, Tara, Arlene, Sam.

Eric was making a list of people I cared about.

If I could have killed him with my bare hands, I would've have leaned across the table and done it.

I had to make do with words. "What will be worse? Aging or dying?"

If the curse was permanent, it was unlikely that Eric would live to grow old. But as a threat, it served its purpose, because Eric looked at me and, in that moment, I think he hated me as much as I hated him.

Eric thought about me reading his mind, Bill pinning him against the wall, and said, "Neither."

I was thrown.

I hadn't expected an answer from him, let alone an honest one.

What had I learned in the past week? Eric would risk his life for a plan, and risk the plan to avoid glamour. Death didn't faze him as much as vulnerability. His demands might make me hate him, but each demand was an attempt to hang on to control.

He was as desperate as I was.

I felt sorry for him. Almost.

I could hardly believe it was possible.

I opened my mouth to say something—maybe call a truce—but then his thoughts came at me, fast, like he was pushing them.

Bill pinning him against the wall. Bill in his coffin. Bill, last night. Bill and me in Fangtasia. Bill, in Eric's office, drinking the blood of a woman I didn't recognize. Bill, Bill, Bill.

I stood up.

"I have to—"

I couldn't finish. I had to not be here.

* * *

I locked the bathroom stall and dropped my head in my hands.

It was the first time I'd been alone since last night. I wanted to cry but I felt too exhausted. Maybe I was cried out.

I couldn't stomach going back to face Eric. Let alone Hadley.

Pam waited outside my stall door. I watched her feet. She was wearing a pair of my sneakers. She hadn't asked to borrow them.

Neither Pam nor Eric had stopped me when I left, but he'd given her a nod. She'd tailed me. Like a well-trained dog.

Not that I should talk. I was on a leash too. Eric was right. They were never going to let me go..

I thought I'd reached bottom last night. I'd had no idea.

Through a crack in the door, I watched Pam drag the trashcan across the floor and wedge it under the front latch. Having successfully transformed a public restroom into a prison, she rapped on my stall. "This isn't Eric's fault."

That was the last conversation I wanted to have right now.

"The Queen insisted Hadley come," Pam said. "Eric fought it. He thought it would make you react— well, like this."

Good for Eric, realizing that something upsetting would upset me. Real depth of insight, there. I would have expected as much from the Queen, honestly.

"She wants her own person along. Supervision." Pam paused. "Trust among vampires is limited, Sookie."

I'd never noticed.

"She won't spare Andre. Who else does she have?"

I could think of alternatives. "Those big guys—"

"Attract attention wherever they go."

So did Hadley, if her past behavior was any indication. Plus, last I heard, the ex-vamps were planning to stay put. Not going anywhere, and particularly, not Arkansas. "What happened to lying low?"

"Eric showed the Queen what you found."

If the romance novel had made the Queen buy into Eric's idiotic plan of driving to Arkansas and knocking on Marnie's front door, she must be desperate to the point of delusion.

"Come out and he'll tell you everything."

That would be a first.

It was also a bald-faced lie. If Eric was truly going to tell me 'everything,' Pam could have just spilled the beans herself. And those beans needed spilling.

For the second time since I'd woken up, I lowered my shields. Pam's thoughts hovered right beyond mine.

I reached out and grabbed them.

She was thinking about hotels. North, near Memphis. Threadgill. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. Before I could net more, Pam's thoughts flickered to me. She wanted me out of the stall. Her patience was dwindling.

I gave her a nudge. "Where are you taking me?"

Again, her thoughts turned to Threadgill. The hotels. North, near Memphis. "The sooner you help, the sooner this ends."

"What's Threadgill?"

Silence from Pam. "You're reading my mind."

Yes, I was. And I had it—Peter Threadgill, King of Arkansas.

Jesus.

The will drained out of me.

"Leave me alone. Please." I sounded like poor, pitiful Pearl, but I was too tired to care. If they were driving me to Peter Threadgill—and it seemed that they were—Eric had forced me into a suicide mission. If I was going to die, I might as well do it here. On my own terms.

In a rest stop bathroom.

God help me.

I was glad Gran couldn't see me now.

The latch started jiggling. I tried to hold it still, but the lock was either too cheap or Pam was too strong. The door clicked, swung open, and suddenly she was staring at me.

She looked furious.

"Get over it." She was thinking about Eric. Bill.

Last time I checked, I couldn't switch off my feelings. If I could, my life would be a hell of a lot easier.

"It only hurts as much as you let it."

Who did she think she was? Dear Abby? "Stuff it, Pam."

I thought the rebuke would piss her off, but instead, she smiled.

Talk about whiplash.

"Get up," she said. "Before I get angry."

She didn't sound angry. She sounded almost fond.

"Get up," she said, again.

She was looking at me and thinking of herself.


	17. White Knight

Eric had made himself at home in that Roy Rogers booth. His feet were up, hands behind his head. To a lay person, he might have even seemed relaxed. That lay person wouldn't notice that Eric had his back to the wall, and his eyes on the exits.

Those eyes cut to me as soon as I left the ladies'. Eric smiled when he realized I was headed his way.

Please. As if there were anywhere else I'd be going.

"Thank you, Sookie," he said, as I sat.

I ignored him. I wasn't interested in fake thanks. Eric wouldn't know gratitude if it bit him on his aggravatingly nice behind.

Pam took a chair between Eric and me, as if she'd appointed herself referee. Not that I'd ever consider Pam impartial. She was on my side only so long as it lined up with Eric's.

If I'd learned one thing from this week, it was that I had to take care of myself. No one was watching out for me—not Pam, not Bill, and certainly not Eric.

Eric wanted my help. I wanted concessions. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had to happen.

I opened negotiations. "Send Hadley home."

Eric didn't miss a beat. "One of us will watch her. Your interactions will be kept to a minimum."

I was thrown. I hadn't expected him to compromise. I'd braced myself for a flat-out no. Maybe he'd given to set me off balance. There was only one way to find out.

I dropped my shields.

Eric was still angry at me, but he was even angrier at the Queen. Pam hadn't lied. Sophie-Anne insisted that he take Hadley. The Queen framed it as if she were doing him a favor. Loaning him an extra pair of fangs.

Pam thought Hadley was a spy. Eric thought the Queen had sent Hadley to cozy up to me.

Why, he didn't know.

Eric noticed me staring at him. He wondered if I was reading his mind.

"What do you think?" I asked him.

"If I could do something about Hadley, I would," he said, surprising me. He meant what he said. He felt sorry for me. I heard that in his thoughts too.

I didn't want his pity, but I appreciated the consideration.

"Okay." Eric wasn't top dog. This was the best he could do. "Why did you bring me to Arkansas?"

Hope rose in Eric's thoughts though he kept his face blank. He'd interpreted the subject change as acquiescence. "So, we're agreed. You'll help.

Nice try, buddy. "Not until I know what I'm agreeing to."

Eric smiled. It was small, almost like he couldn't help it, and gone before I could figure out why. I shelved it away to think about later.

He slid a piece of paper across the table. I recognized it as the photograph of maids and service staff I'd found tucked alongside Marnie's living dead spell. A note on the back identified one of the maids as Marnie's mother.

Eric jabbed his finger at the top of the photo. "Look."

I was already looking. The staff posed on a grand staircase. Eric pointed at a banner strung above them. I had to squint to read it. Poindexter Palace.

Okay. "So?"

"It's still around." Pam put a brochure on the table. Show and tell time. The title read—you guessed it—Poindexter Palace. Below it was a picture of a grand looking house with a wraparound porch. "Hotel," she said. "Up north, near Tennessee."

I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to put the pieces together. "We're going to a place where Marnie's mother worked fifty years ago?" As far as leads went, this one was pathetic.

"Queen's orders." Eric said, like it ended the argument.

He only wished it did. The Queen might be desperate, but she wasn't an idiot. "What aren't you telling me?"

Pam and Eric looked at each other. I waited for them to speak. The silence stretched.

I dropped my shields. I went for Eric's thoughts first. He'd pissed me off more. Plus, he was louder than Pam, so it took less effort—almost no effort, in fact. I had my answer in a hot half-second.

Peter Threadgill owned Poindexter Palace.

Oh.

I must have been quiet a moment too long, because Eric's eyes narrowed. "Satisfied, Sookie?"

Not even close. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"And say his name aloud?" I thought Eric was being paranoid, but the intensity of his stare made me question my instincts. I glanced around the food court. I saw guys in baseball caps. Families with kids. Everyone looked normal. I wouldn't peg any of them as vampire spies.

On the other hand, a spy who stood out wouldn't be any good at her job.

"Bill's in Little Rock." Pam gave me a significant look. It took me a second to remember that Little Rock meant Threadgill's court. "Poindexter is a hundred miles north."

"The name on the deed?" Eric paused, and I nodded to show that I understood he meant Threadgill. "Alone, it might not be significant. He's bought up riverfront property. Hotels, casinos. This is one of many. Beyond ownership, it seems like his involvement is limited."

"And Marnie worked for him in the past," Pam said.

That surprised me. It felt like a real lead.

"Andre found a copy of her tax returns in the car," Pam said. "She reports several payments from... him." Pam nodded at the Poindexter Palace brochure. Him was apparently Threadgill, then. "From the amounts, we assume it's odd jobs, contracts. Like you."

The fact that Marnie had a prior relationship with Threadgill seemed damning. But one detail stuck in my craw. "Who keeps tax returns in their car?"

Pam shrugged, disinterested. "Someone who forgot to file them?"

It had almost been a year since tax season. "Someone who wants you to find her tax returns," I muttered. It seemed strange to me. And convenient.

Eric smirked. So he was on my side, apparently.

I turned to him. If he was an ally, I wanted his support. "Do you think he's behind it?" I didn't use Threadgill's name in deference to the vamps' paranoia.

For a second, Eric seemed surprised, but then his face went blank—always a telltale sign that I was on to something. "What do you think?"

What did I think? I thought Eric wouldn't ask me for my opinion without an ulterior motive. But I didn't have a clue as to what it was.

I didn't have enough information to form an opinion on Threadgill. But I had trouble believing that a vampire would mess with a spell that could turn him human. It would be kind of like Superman playing with kryptonite. In other words: not very smart.

"There are a lot of ways to undermine Louisiana." I chose my words carefully. "Why choose this one?"

"Why indeed?" Eric definitely agreed with me.

That was all well and good, but why hadn't he come out and said it? Some days, I wondered if he'd been socialized on Mars.

Pam seemed skeptical. "If he's not behind it, there are many coincidences." It was clear from her tone that she didn't put much stock in chance.

Neither did I, for that matter.

Then it hit me. Pam was right. The coincidence strained credulity. Unless someone was trying to frame Peter Threadgill.

But who? And why?

I glanced at Eric, and found him already looking my way. I wanted to run my idea by him, but I couldn't think of a way to phrase it without mentioning Threadgill by name. It would have to wait.

Pam gave me a curious look. "You all right?"

"Fine." I felt the best I had all day, not that it was saying much. It was nice to have a problem to take my mind off the mess that was my personal life.

I wondered if that had been their plan all along.

"We're a few hours from the hotel," Pam said. "All we ask is that you go inside, see what you can get from the staff."

It wasn't a terrible task. There was enough daylight left I could get in and out before vampires rose. Nothing was ever straightforward with Eric and Pam, but this sounded about as easy as a job for them got.

The job might be simple, but that didn't change the fact that I'd been kidnapped and carried across state lines to do it.

I turned to Eric. "You should have asked me."

"No." He didn't seem remorseful.

He believed he'd done the right thing.

I was about to let him have it, but my shields had gone up and down so many times in the last hour, his thoughts just dragged me in.

Eric was thinking about last night. I saw myself in his mind. I was barely recognizable. My eyes were red, my shoulders hunched. I hardly looked like a person. I hated that he'd seen me like that.

It was obvious why he hadn't asked about Arkansas. I'd been so upset, I'd have probably said no to Gran.

He thought he was doing me a favor, getting me out of Bon Temps.

Please. Like he was some big white knight. Eric didn't do favors for anyone but himself. He was generous only when he thought he could finagle something in return.

I was steamed, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn't have anything to say to Eric that I wouldn't regret later. That drive was going to be enough fun without another fight.

I needed time alone to cool down. I got to my feet. "We done?"

We were going to the same place, but I'd just as soon walk alone.

"No." Of course, he was going to make things as difficult as possible. I crossed my arms and waited for him to speak. Instead, he nodded at Pam. It was a dismissal.

She gave Eric a significant look, then started towards the exit.

I watched her go. I wanted to follow.

Eric cleared his throat. He seemed uncomfortable. "You're appreciated. What you do."

It almost seemed like he was trying to apologize.

I just stared at him.

Too little, too late.

Gran taught me never to turn down a hand offered in friendship, but this wasn't friendship. Not really.

I followed Pam out the door.

* * *

On my way out of the rest stop, I caught sight of a rack of brochures. The Poindexter Palace leaflet was front and center.

_Historic Accommodations, Modern Amenities_ , read the subtitle.

On a hunch, I grabbed brochures for anything that looked like a hotel or a casino. Anything with a picture of the Mississippi. I ended up with a stack of a dozen pamphlets. Eric had mentioned that Threadgill was buying up riverfront property. I wasn't sure if the brochures were significant, I figured they couldn't hurt. At the worst, it would be light reading for the trip. Papers to hide behind when we were stuck in the car together.

When I walked outside, I nearly collided with Pam. She'd planted herself just in front of the exit. She pointed at the lot.

I followed her gaze.

Smoke billowed from our car's open hood.

Hadley leaned over the engine. At least, I thought it was Hadley. All I could see were legs and a miniskirt with rhinestone-encrusted pockets. It made her butt sparkle.

I can't explain why, but those shiny pockets pissed me off almost as much as Hadley herself. Everything I disliked about her had been condensed into two squares of bejeweled denim.

Hadley was flanked by two men. One wore a state trooper uniform; the other was dressed like a trucker. They were well-muscled. Handsome. Attentive. In other words, just Hadley's type.

"Stay." I heard Pam's voice, as if from far away. "Calm down. I'll talk to her."

As Pam peeled off, I felt someone stop behind me. I knew from the long shadow that it was Eric.

Pam approached the car and Hadley straightened. She gestured at the engine. Said something to Pam, who frowned.

"What's going on?" Eric asked.

"Not sure." I watched as Hadley introduced Pam to her hunky trucker, then the cop. The officer extended his hand to Pam.

My pulse sped up. Vampires didn't do handshakes.

Pam stared at the cop. He looked curious, then—as the moment stretched—concerned. But, as soon as he opened his mouth to question her, Pam grabbed his hand.

They shook.

The cop smiled. Pam looked ill.

At that point, Hadley caught sight of Eric and me. She grinned. Waved.

"She broke the car on purpose." I didn't know how Hadley did it, but the suspicion flared, as I stared at her stupid smile, I knew it in my bones to be true.

"Did you read her mind?" Eric sounded angry. Good.

"No." Not from this far away. But I didn't need to hear Hadley's thoughts. I could tell from the way she was laughing at some joke the trooper made. She put her hand on his chest. Let it linger a moment too long. She was eating up the attention from Hunk 1 and Hunk 2.

I bet the Queen didn't let Hadley flirt with nice, tall men.

I bet the Queen didn't let her do a lot of things.

To Eric, to Pam—the spell was a curse. But I wasn't so sure that Hadley felt the same way. I'd barely spent an hour with her majesty and creepy Andre, but it was enough to last me a lifetime. Hadley was stuck with them for eternity.

Or, so she'd thought.

What was the first thing she'd done when she came to my house? Lied about why she was there. The second thing?

She'd asked for a beer.

Hadley was living it up.

I bet she felt like she'd gotten out of jail.

A tow truck rolled into the rest stop. Hadley's trucker waved it over to them, not that the extra guidance was necessary. Ours was the only smoking car in the lot. But he seemed eager to be useful. Eager to impress.

"Don't confront her." Eric watched the trucker. He looked grim. "I'll handle it."

Something about Eric looked different, but before I could put my finger on it, he started towards Hadley.

As I fell into step behind him, I realized that he'd found himself a baseball hat.


	18. Lucky 13

Chickasaw, Arkansas. Population 544.

One service station. No car rentals. Three liquor stores.

Or, at least that's how many I counted on the walk from the mechanic to the only motel in town.

We were stuck. Stuck in one of the few towns in Arkansas without bus service. Stuck for the 24 to 48 hours it would take to get our engine repaired.

We'd sprung a leak. Coolant dripped into the radiator. Or the transmission. Or vice versa. Honestly, I was fuzzy on the details. Once the mechanic said the repair would take a full day, I'd been too busy blocking out Eric's murderous thoughts to catch specifics.

The mechanic had been amazed we'd been able to drive at all.

I was amazed that Hadley had been so audacious.

I'd bet anything that the leak hadn't been there when we left Bon Temps. Or when we parked at the rest stop. When Eric, Pam and I had gone inside, Hadley seized her opportunity. Why she'd stalled us, I wasn't sure. I intended to find out.

I took some consolation in the fact that Hadley's afternoon wasn't going according to plan, either. She'd been sulking ever since the rest stop. Eric's method of dismissing her suitors had been unconventional, to say the least: as soon as we'd reached the car, he'd slung his arm around Hadley. She'd given him a stink eye, but the damage was done. When Eric said he'd handle the car, neither man argued.

Hadley pitched a fit as soon as they left, but Eric told her to take it up with Sophie-Anne, which killed all discussion. We'd ridden to the mechanic in silence, and now we were trudging to town the same way.

If you've never had the pleasure of strolling along a highway, know that they are not made for pedestrian traffic. Every car that passed seemed to be going faster than the next.

I was dreading the next 24 to 48 hours, but I wasn't even sure I'd make it through the next ten minutes.

Hadley broke the silence.

"This place looks fun." Next to liquor store number four was a roadhouse with blacked-out windows. It was only early afternoon, but trucks crowded the dirt lot. The nearest had metal balls hanging from its back fender.

It looked like the opposite of fun.

The hand-painted sign out front read Sam's.

There was only one explanation. The universe was taunting me.

Sam's roadhouse was a reminder that I wasn't going to make it into work tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day, if my bad luck held out.

I couldn't afford to miss shifts, but as bad as lost income was, leaving Sam in a pinch felt worse. He'd have a tough job finding a replacement, especially on such short notice. The least I could do was make things easy on him.

As we continued down the road, I pulled out my cell and hit number four on speed dial. Arlene picked up on the first ring, thank god. I wouldn't have felt right calling Sam without a solution in the bag.

"Sookie. How you been, girl?"

"Busy," was an understatement. "I need a favor."

Silence. Arlene probably knew where this was going. Lord knows I'd gotten this call from her often enough. "Honey, you know I would, but Coby and Lisa are off school."

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." I was marooned in Arkansas. I couldn't have made my shift if I tried. "I'm in—"

A look from Eric stopped me midsentence.

"Nashville," I said, picking a place out of midair.

"What the heck are you doing there?"

I fumbled for an explanation. "It was kind of spur of the moment."

"Who is he?" Arlene read between lines I hadn't been writing. She sounded gleeful— Sookie Stackhouse running off with some man was worth a week of gossip at least. "I thought you were done with Vampire Bill."

"I am." I said, too loud. Sue me, but I'd be perfectly happy never hearing Bill's name again. "There's no man."

"Oh sure." She didn't believe me. "Why didn't you say anything the other night?"

Romance was the furthest thing from my mind. I opened my mouth to tell Arlene so—then stopped.

Her story explained my absence, and if I knew Arlene, she'd spread it all over town. My pride would take a hit, but it would be worth it so long as no one connected my disappearance to that of the state's vampires. It wasn't as if I had much of a reputation to protect, anyway.

I wasn't a stranger to gossip. I've heard it all before, and then some. I've heard the things people don't say aloud.

Maybe the best thing I could do was let rumor take its course. I didn't have to confirm or deny. Mystery would only pique Arlene's interest.

"I'm probably gone for another day. Maybe two. I'm on the schedule for dinner tonight. Tomorrow lunch. Look, I'll make up for you. Next week, whenever you want."

Silence from Arlene. I held my breath. I knew she didn't want to take my shifts, but I needed her. If she didn't help me, I'd try Holly, but we weren't all that close. Arlene was my best shot.

She knew it too.

"I could use some help round the trailer," she said, finally.

"I'll bring my cleaning gloves." It was only fair. This was last minute, after all.

I felt prickling on the back of my neck. I turned around. Eric was listening. He looked ticked off. I had no idea why, but frankly, I was through caring.

"Who am I to stand in the way of young love?" Arlene said.

Love was one word for it. Scandal would be more accurate. As soon as Arlene got off the phone with me. she'd call half of Bon Temps. I didn't want to think about it. What's done was done. She'd agreed to take my shifts, and she'd given me an alibi. That was the important thing.

"You're a lifesaver."

"Don't you forget it," she said, and hung up.

"Who was that?" Eric sounded pissed. Whether at me, or the world, I wasn't sure.

It wasn't any of his business, but it was easier to answer than fight. "My friend Arlene." I should have left it at that, but I was feeling low about the gossip, so I indulged in a little self-pity. "I was supposed to work tonight."

I left the second part of the sentence unsaid—I was supposed to work, until you kidnapped me.

Eric got the message anyway. He glared at me, my phone, then turned back to the road.

* * *

"Two rooms," I said. "Two beds."

"We only got Queens."

'Queen' made me start, even though the clerk meant beds, not vampire royalty.

"Fine." You couldn't fight city hall. Or the man at the motel desk. Pam and I could share a bed. As could Eric and Hadley. Maybe she'd come on to him.

It wasn't my problem.

There was only one motel in Chickasaw. Thankfully, it had a full slate of open rooms. I couldn't imagine that it got much traffic, outside of the occasional trucker. Another blessing: the rooms were cheap and the management knew better than to ask for identifying information. I did have to leave a $10 deposit for linens.

The clerk gave me sheets, towels, and the keys to rooms 12 and lucky 13. The ex-vamps waited for me outside. Eric decided they should minimize their public exposure and, for once, I agreed with him.

I'd checked in, but I wasn't in any hurry to meet up with Eric. I had to call Sam and I didn't know the next time I'd be alone, so I decided to seize the opportunity. I wasn't going to give Eric a chance to eavesdrop if I could help it. He'd been far too interested in my talk with Arlene. Motel reception had a ladies' room with a lock on the door, which gave me the privacy I needed.

Sam picked up after a few rings. "Sookie?"

I heard muffled voices in the background. There wasn't a clock around, but I figured that it had to be the tail end of the lunch rush. The hubbub sounded familiar.

Right then, I'd have given just about anything to be back at Merlotte's. One of the voices in the crowd. Slinging hash beat vampires any day of the week.

And there I went again. Feeling sorry for myself. It wasn't making my life any easier.

I took a deep breath and came clean. "Sam, I'm in Nashville."

Sam was more worried than upset, especially after I told him Arlene would cover my shifts. I knew he wouldn't swallow the whirlwind romance lie, so I told him I had a family emergency and I couldn't say more. I'm not sure if he believed me, especially since Jason was my only family to speak of, but he knew better than to press. I felt rotten lying to him, but it couldn't be helped. The less Sam knew about the vampires' troubles, the better.

"Have you seen Jason?" I asked, just as we were about to hang up.

"Not since New Year's," said Sam, and my heart dropped into my stomach. "He's not in Nashville?"

"Nope." Neither was I, but that was another story. "Keep your eyes out. He's dropped off the map and I'm worried sick."

"Want me to swing by his house?"

"No," slipped out, too loud and fast. The Queen and Andre were holed up at Jason's. If Sam saw them, he was as good as dead. "Promise me you won't." It wasn't a normal request, but I couldn't see a way around it.

He was smart enough to realize that something was wrong. "Sookie, what's going on?"

"Promise me."

"Not until you—"

"Sam." I wasn't taking no for an answer.

Silence. Then, "Okay."

He didn't sound happy about it.

"If you see Jason, tell him to call me."

Sam was quiet. "Sookie, if you need help, I'm a phone call away."

I wanted nothing more than to ask Sam to come get me, but I forced myself to say, "I'm fine. I'll see you in a few days, okay?"

I could feel the tears gathering, so I hung up. The last thing I needed was for Sam to hear me cry.

It took me a good five minutes to cry myself dry, then another five to pat the redness out of my face. When I'd gotten myself under control, I tried Jason's cell.

It went straight to voicemail.

I tried again.

Voicemail.

I made a list of people to call. Hoyt Fortenberry. Catfish Hennessy. If that yielded nothing, I could start on Jason's girlfriends. Starting with his most current. What was her name? Something with a K. Kristen or Kelly.

Then it hit me.

Hadley knew. She'd met her.

Hadley said Jason's new girlfriend had stopped by his house, just after he disappeared. Hadley had answered the door, and they'd talked. She had to know the woman's name. Maybe girlfriend left a phone number.

I'd have been as happy as kid on Christmas if I never had to speak to Hadley again, but there wasn't any way around it. Plus, there was no time like the present. The vamps were still in the parking lot, waiting for me. If I knew Eric, he'd be getting antsy.

I checked my reflection in the mirror on my way out. My eyes were red, but it couldn't be helped. Mostly, I looked normal.

They'd never know I'd been crying.

It took me ten seconds to find the vamps. They weren't outside the office where I'd left them, but Eric was the tallest thing in the parking lot so, for once, he made my life easy. He was still wearing his baseball hat—red, for the Arkansas Razorbacks. He must have bought it at the rest stop. Either that, or he swiped it off a bystander.

I was better off not knowing.

Eric, Pam, and Hadley clustered around a murky looking swimming pool. Given that it was January, I was surprised to see it open. As I got closer, I figured it had more to do with the management's apathy than a commitment to year-round amenities. The pool was choked with leaves and old beer cans. Hadley sat by the side, dangling a hand in the water. I bit my tongue. Technically, she was an adult.

She gave me a big grin. "Hey, Sookie."

It took all my self-control to nod back. I handed Eric the key for lucky 13. No way was I taking that room. "I got one night."

"It's all we need," he said, as if he could make it so by willpower alone.

"I need a shower," Hadley announced, getting to her feet. As she stretched, her shirt rode up to bare her middle. Her stomach was perfectly flat. I watched her with more envy than I care to admit. "Where's our key, Sookie?"

So Hadley assumed we were staying together. That would happen over my dead body.

Before I could say anything, Eric passed Hadley his key. "Make yourself at home." He gave her a look—a clear dismissal.

She hesitated.

"Sookie will meet you there," he said.

Hadley glared at him. Maybe it was leftover anger from the trucker and trooper incident. "I'll need a towel."

I handed her one, along with half the sheets.

"Thanks." She smiled at me, a little too broad.

I forced a, "Sure thing."

When Hadley was out of earshot, I said, "No way am I staying with her."

"Would you rather I tell her out here?" Eric's implication was clear. Tell her in public, and she'd cause a scene. Better let it go down behind closed doors.

"Fine," I said, because he was right. And because he'd made it his problem.

"Settle in," he said. "But I want to talk with you."

"Okay," I said, but only because I couldn't see any way around it, especially with adjoining rooms.

And speaking of chats that had to happen, I needed to grill Hadley about Jason's girlfriend.

Shoot.

I'd rather talk to Eric, and that was saying something.

"I need a nap," I said, to no one in particular.

What were the odds I'd get it?

* * *

Pam helped me make our bed, then gallantly allowed me to take the first shower. I've often thought there are few ailments that a hot shower can't cure, but I must have been suffering from them, because try as I might, I couldn't knock the cricks out of my neck or the worries from my head. My mind wandered back to Jason, and before I knew it, I was tearing up. I had to turn off the water and take a few deep breaths to get myself under control. If I lost it, I'd be no help to anyone, least of all my brother.

I had to talk to Hadley. Get Jason's girlfriend's name.

I wrapped a towel around myself. I stepped out of the bathroom to find Pam sitting on the bed, waiting. Her hands were folded, ankles crossed. It was almost as if she'd been in downtime. When she saw me, she smiled. Her appreciation was clear. Fangs were the only thing missing.

"Pam." I could feel a flush rising. "Quit."

Pam pointedly did not quit. Instead, she looked me up and down. "Why are you ashamed? You are a beautiful woman."

I didn't have the energy for this. "Turn around, please." I said, and she did. She was smiling, almost as if she were amused that I'd make such a request.

Modesty: so funny.

I've never thrown on a dress so quickly in my life.

When I turned around, Pam still had her back to me.

"You can stop," I said, then tacked on a belated, "Thanks."

"I am not the only one who thinks so," Pam said, and it took me a second to realize she was back to the creepy compliments.

"I don't want to talk about it." And I didn't. Not today. And not with a vampire.

Not after last night.

I ran a comb through my hair. "I have to talk to Hadley."

I was out the door, before Pam could ask why.

It was only a few feet to Room 13. I knocked. Eric answered.

Then stared.

"You're wet." He was eyeing me with almost as much interest as Pam.

"That's what happens when you shower." I tried to ignore the feel of his eyes on me. "Hadley here?"

Eric's eyes flickered back to my face. "Why?"

"My brother."

"He's still missing?"

I was surprised that he remembered. I nodded, because I didn't trust myself to say anything out loud. I could still feel those tears in the back of my throat.

"She's at the pool," he said.

I wasn't sure Eric should leave Hadley unattended, but I didn't want to get into it. Not now, at least. Not while I was soaking wet and he wouldn't stop staring at me.

I nodded and left.

I could feel his eyes on me, across the lot.

I found Hadley talking to a guy with a buzz cut and a sleeve tattoo. He was wearing red trunks that could have been a swimsuit, but were probably boxers. Hadley was still in her sparkly miniskirt.

They were two cans into a six-pack of tallboys.

Hadley made friends fast.

"Hey, Beau," she said, as I approached, "this is my cousin Sookie."

I'd never seen anyone who looked less like a Beau, but I forced myself to smile at him.

He looked me up and down. "Looks like you brought your own pool."

The comment made me self-conscious, so I pulled my wet hair into a knot. It had run streaks down the front of my dress, and Beau's eyes, of course, focused on my neckline. Damn it. When Gran said I shouldn't leave the house with a wet head, I doubted this was the kind of situation she'd been imagining. Her advice nevertheless stood.

"Sit." My impromptu wet tee show had turned Beau into a Sookie fan. Ick. He pointed to a chair next to Hadley. "Bar's open."

"No, thanks." I tried to sound polite and not repulsed. "Hadley, can I talk to you?"

She exchanged a look with Beau. "Sure."

Hadley brought a tallboy with her.

I led her into the lot. Beau watched with interest, so I put a pickup between us. I couldn't imagine he'd be able to overhear.

"Smoke?" Hadley produced cigarettes from one of her bejeweled pockets.

"No," I said, as she lit up. I wanted to get in and out of this conversation as quickly as possible. "You met Jason's girlfriend?"

I might as well have asked the nearby pickup truck, because Hadley ignored me. "Eric says you're upset with me."

No shit. But I wasn't about to get dragged into this conversation. Hadley was pursuing her own agenda, and two could play that game. "I need to call her. No one's heard from Jason since New Year's."

"I didn't know Sophie-Anne would come after you, Sookie." Hadley looked like she meant it, too.

I couldn't listen to her. Particularly on this subject.

"Did you meet Jason's girlfriend?" I reached for Hadley's thoughts, hoping that I could pick the name out of her head and be done with it. But she was thinking about Sophie-Anne.

"You're upset," Hadley said. "That's what they want. We've got to stick together. Us against them."

Great idea. Hadley and me versus the vampire establishment of Louisiana. Maybe we could recruit Beau to help us. The poor guy would never know what hit him. He seemed like a jerk, but he hardly deserved to be smacked with the Mack truck that was vampire politics. If he hung around Hadley—or me, for that matter—how long would it be before he ended up dead?

"You shouldn't be talking to that guy." Not to mention the men at the rest stop.

"Just being neighborly," she said. "He needed help with his beers."

I bet he did.

I couldn't believe my cousin had been a vampire. Either she was clueless, or she didn't give a shit. Maybe both. "You're putting him at risk."

Hadley looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. After a second, she started laughing. "You're kidding, right?"

I wasn't. Hadley got the message quick, because the smile dropped off her face. "God, he's done a number on you." She was thinking about Eric. "Longer they live, more paranoid they get. Believe me, I know." She took a swig of beer. "Stick with me, little cousin. I'll take care of you."

Take care of me? Is that what she'd been doing, when she sold me out to Sophie-Anne?

The accusation was on the tip of my tongue, but I kept it in, thank god.

I wanted one thing from this conversation.

"Jason's girlfriend."

Hadley stared at me.

He was her cousin, for god's sake.

"Please." My voice wavered.

Hadley looked at me with distaste. She seemed frustrated. Or disappointed. I wasn't sure which. Honestly, I didn't care. "Crystal."

"Last name?"

"Don't remember."

I checked her thoughts. She was telling the truth.

I nodded, and started back across the parking lot.

"Sookie, come on," Hadley said. "Stay. Have a beer."

I didn't look back.

* * *

Carla Rodriguez hadn't seen Jason, nor had his three other exes whom I harassed with the help of 411. Catfish Hennessey told me Jason hadn't shown up to work in two days. Hoyt Fortenberry hadn't heard from him either, and he was almost as worried as I was.

Hoyt did, however, know the last name of Jason's current girlfriend.

Crystal Norris.

I realized that I should have called Hoyt in the first place. I was so stressed between Jason and my other hundred problems, I hadn't been thinking straight.

"She's from Hotshot," Hoyt said, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. I'd known Crystal was a shifter since I'd seen her at New Year's, and Jason had mentioned Hotshot when we talked the next day. So much had happened between now and then, the information had gone in one ear and out the other.

Although technically part of Renard Parish, Hotshot was a country unto itself. The unkind called Hotshot's people hillbillies, and rumors swirled about inbreeding, but all I knew for sure was that the town was dirt poor and its residents didn't take kindly to outsiders.

"Thought I might head out there later today," Hoyt said. "See if Crystal's heard from him."

"Don't go alone." Maybe Hoyt could take another of Jason's buddies, or one of the guys from the road crew. I'd go myself, if I were in town.

Hoyt promised he wouldn't, but he sounded amused. I hoped he wasn't humoring me.

I'd thought Hotshot was bad, but when Hoyt mentioned that he'd dropped by Jason's house this morning, I straight up panicked. Since he was talking to me and, obviously, very much alive, I assumed that he hadn't seen the Queen.

"I knocked on the door, checked in the windows," Hoyt said. "Nothing. No one home."

Maybe the Queen and company had moved on? Was that too much to ask?

Yes.

I'd bet anything that they'd been lying low. After all, where else did they have to go?

"You think we should call the police?" Hoyt said. "This isn't like Jason."

It wasn't. But the first thing a police officer would do was go to Jason's house. Unlike Hoyt, the cop wouldn't walk away when no one answered the doorbell. I had no love lost for Bud Dearborne or Alcee Beck, but I didn't want either of them dead.

But Jesus, did I ever want the cops called in. Hoyt and I could poke around all we liked, but we weren't professionals. My mind flashed to the blood Eric and I had found on Jason's dock. I hadn't had time to think about it until now. Something had happened to my brother. I just knew it. But I couldn't call the police so long as Sophie-Anne was hiding on his property.

The Queen had to move.

It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together.

* * *

"You want Sophie-Anne in your house?" Eric looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

'Want' had nothing to do with it. I didn't have any other options. She could hardly check into the Holiday Inn, now could she? And with someone targeting Louisiana vampires, it wasn't safe for her to stay at properties owned by Eric, Pam or Bill. My house was it.

"Will you call her?" Eric owed me that much. I didn't want to talk to her, if I could help it.

He hesitated. "If I were you, I'd cultivate distance between myself and the Queen."

Distance was a luxury I couldn't afford. Jason had been missing for two days. "I have to call the police."

Eric looked angry. "Your police are worthless," he said, as if it were self-evident. The sky is blue, the grass is green and police are worthless.

I wasn't the cops' biggest fan either, but, "Eric, he's my brother." I didn't expect Eric to give a shit about him, but he was smart enough to understand that Jason was important to me. "You remember the blood we found? On his dock?"

Eric nodded.

"How do you explain that?" Eric couldn't, nor could I, and that was the point. I'd watched enough CSI to know the police had ways for dealing with those kinds of clues. "I hope he's with his girlfriend in Hotshot, but for two days? He's missing work." Say what you want about Jason, but he took his job seriously. He wasn't boss of a parish road crew for nothing. "His friend Hoyt's checking Hotshot tonight, but if Jason's not there, I'm calling the cops. I'll talk to Sophie-Anne myself, if I have to." I'd get the number from Hadley, god help me.

Eric was quiet. He was thinking that I had no understanding of what I was asking him to do.

"Sophie-Anne is a fair leader," he said, finally. "But if she gets hold of you, she won't let go."

She wouldn't let go? Now, that sounded familiar.

I glared at him.

Eric and I sat on opposite sides of the room. I was in a chair; he was on the Queen-sized bed. I was sitting; he was lounging, sprawled out as if he owned the place. He looked relaxed. Unconcerned. If I hadn't been tuned to his thoughts, I wouldn't have known otherwise.

Eric was worried that I'd follow through with my threat and call Sophie-Anne. He was convinced I'd live to regret it.

Just as I'd come to regret inviting him into my home?

Eric was blind if he didn't see the irony in his warning me to stay away from the Queen. I'd learned how controlling vampires could be, in large part thanks to him. I'd given him shelter when he needed it most, and I was living with the consequences.

If I extended the same invitation to Sophie-Anne, would she seize the opportunity, as Eric had?

Yes. Of course.

As I watched Eric pretend to relax, I realized I wouldn't be trading one vampire for another. I had a hard time imagining having this talk, for instance, with Sophie-Anne. Eric was honest with me, more or less. He was even worried, if his thoughts were to be believed.

In person, the Queen had been nothing but kind to me, but I knew enough about catching flies with honey to mistrust her. Bill was another warning. Hadley's behavior gave me the sense that Sophie-Anne kept her people on a tighter leash than Eric.

As difficult as Eric was, I wasn't sure that he was even comparable to the Queen.

Maybe that was Eric's point. And maybe, in that case, I appreciated his warning after all.

But what could I do? As much as I wanted to stay away from Sophie-Anne, wants were one thing and musts were something else entirely. Finding Jason was a must. It superseded everything.

"Eric, he's my brother." I'd said it before, and I'd say it again. It boiled down to that one, simple fact. Jason was my brother.

If I didn't help him, who would?

Eric stared at me. He had a strange look on his face, like he didn't know what to make of me.

"He's human?" he said, finally. "The friend."

Hoyt? Talk about a non-sequitur. "Yes. Why?"

"Hotshot is a shifter community." Eric sounded resigned. "I've dealt with their leader. Something Norris."

He pulled out his cell phone and started thumbing through contacts.

"Calvin," he said, after a pause. "He's not unreasonable."

Crystal's last name was Norris. She had to be a relation.

This was without a doubt the most information Eric had volunteered in the past week.

"If the shifters know anything, they won't tell your brother's friend," Eric said. "And I can't call Calvin. Not like this." He paused to think. He didn't want to involve Flood. Even if Alcide Herveaux would walk through fire for me. "Can your man Merlotte handle himself?"

I hated to involve Sam. But could he 'handle' himself?

Without a doubt.

I nodded.

"Then send him. Like to like."

I didn't want to put Sam at risk, but a trip to Hotshot might be okay. Sam had been trying to make inroads with local shifters; maybe he knew this Calvin Norris. I could ask him to tag along with Hoyt. Try to grease the wheels.

I couldn't believe that Eric had been so forthcoming.

I couldn't believe he'd been forthcoming, period.

"Thanks." I didn't know what else to say.

Eric brushed it off. "An invitation to your home would not send the message you intend."

Or the message Eric wanted. His advice was hardly selfless. The more contact I had with the Queen, the less control he had over me. Eric's opinion was coming across loud and clear—stay away from her—but was he trying to protect me? Or his own interests?

I looked at him, and found him staring back.

Maybe, in this case, our interests weren't mutually exclusive.

As soon I started thinking about interests—Eric's, the Queen's, and my own—an idea popped into my head. I was appalled I hadn't thought of before. Especially given last night.

"Did you kidnap Jason?" I was tuned to his thoughts, but I was almost certain he'd be candid. If he'd done it, it would have been to ensure my cooperation. He'd have no reason to hide it from me.

"No." Eric's face showed no emotion, but his thoughts told a different story. I'd feared he might be offended, even angry, but I was surprised to find him pleased that I'd considered the possibility.

I didn't understand him at all.

He was thinking about the Queen.

"Did Sophie-Anne kidnap him?"

"Ask your cousin."

"I'm asking you."

I had the answer before he said it aloud. "She's shared no such plans with me."

He was telling the truth.

Eric had considered it. The night we found the Queen at Jason's. He hadn't been sure then; now, he thought it unlikely. Sophie-Anne seemed to be taking a soft touch with me. Why else was Hadley along?

"Ask your cousin." Eric paused. "If I could read minds, I'd start with hers."

* * *

Hadley wasn't by the pool. She wasn't in the parking lot. The desk clerk refused to give out Beau's room number, but I picked it out of his head. I knocked a few times, but no one answered.

"He left." I wheeled around. A man with Santa Claus hair stood at the next door, an empty ice bucket in his hand. "Round ten minutes ago."

"Was he alone?" I didn't care where Beau went, so long as Hadley wasn't with him.

"Dunno." Santa smiled. A gold cap winked on one of his teeth. "Why's a girl like you looking for Beau?" His smile widened. It made him look less like Santa and more like the big bad wolf. "I can guess."

I didn't know what he meant, but I didn't like the sound of it. "Thanks for your help."

"Haven't helped you yet." Santa wasn't thinking about helping, or at least not helping in the way I meant it. He was thinking about V. How he'd sell it to me twice what he paid in Bentonville.

My heart beat double its normal speed, but I gave him a big smile. "Maybe later, okay?"

As I started the too-long walk back to room 13, I realized two things:

Before she was turned, Hadley had likely been a V addict.

And I had a good idea of where she was.


	19. Bender

Walking into Sam's roadhouse felt like stepping inside a coffin. The bar was windowless and wood paneled. Liquor bottles crowded every surface. Between the alcohol and parquet, all it would take was a well-placed match to set the place on fire.

I stopped. Caught myself.

Had I just been daydreaming about arson?

I was more than a little disturbed until I realized the thought had come from Eric.

He loomed behind me. Fuming.

"Why don't you wait outside?" I said.

It wasn't dark yet, but the sun was on its final descent. In less than an hour, Arkansas's vampires would be awake. While Sam's didn't seem like the local undead hot spot, the chances of Eric being recognized were higher here than at the motel, or even outside in the rapidly darkening parking lot.

"No." Eric was thinking that Sam's wasn't the type of place a woman should come alone. And he was right. I'd pulled a sweatshirt over my dress, but I was still attracting my fair share of stares. Blonde hair will do that.

Sam's clientele was overwhelmingly male. The patrons would fit in at Merlotte's. But while Merlotte's was a family bar, Sam's was the kind of place guys didn't bring their wives. Eric and I were attracting our share of sideways glances. We weren't just newcomers; we stood out. I was crashing the boy's club, and while Eric might be a guy, he was hardly one of the guys.

It was attention I could have done without.

I didn't see Hadley, and I was ready to suggest we cut our losses, until I noticed a doorway at the back of the bar. A second room. Fingers crossed, she'd be in there.

When I'd heard Beau was missing, I figured Hadley had tagged along. It didn't take a genius to figure out where they'd gone. Sam's roadhouse had caught Hadley's eye this morning. If my cousin was hunting for a party, neither hell nor high water would keep her away from the town bar. I could have gone after Hadley alone, but I'd felt compelled to tell Eric. I didn't want to think about how he'd react when he realized the two of us were missing.

When I said Hadley was gone and I thought she was at Sam's, Eric got very quiet. Then, he said, "I'm coming."

I'd been surprised, since it was almost nightfall. When I mentioned the time, he said, "I'm not known in Arkansas."

I was eavesdropping on his thoughts, so I knew he was fudging facts. Eric's had met a handful of vampires in Threadgill's court. Even so, his assurance was effectively—if not technically—true. Little Rock was miles away, and the chances of a city vampire visiting this backwater were slim.

"Your cousin is a stupid woman." Eric thought it made her dangerous. "Nor does she have your best interests at heart."

I didn't need his warning, but I appreciated it.

"What will the Queen do if we lose Hadley?" I had to prepare for the worst-case scenario.

"Hadley lost herself," he said, without a trace of emotion.

* * *

I heard Hadley before I saw her and from the way her voice was pitched—high, intense—I knew she'd landed in some kind of trouble.

I walked into the back room, Eric a step behind me, just in time to hear the bartender tell Hadley, "That's not you."

Beau and Hadley were at the bar. I knew in a glance that they were high on V. They were practically glowing. Hadley had a wild look in her eye that doesn't come natural, even to people like her.

Beau had slung his arm around Hadley's shoulders. He was thinking about how much he wanted to sleep with her, how lucky he'd been to find a hot woman in this neck of the woods. Hadley, for her part, couldn't have cared less. She wanted a drink.

Hence, the argument.

Her ID lay on the bar, in front of the bartender.

He'd carded her.

Hadley looked young, but no one would mistake her for under 21. I'd bet that was doubly true at a bar like Sam's, which didn't seem like it would be in the habit of inconveniencing paying customers.

A quick pass through the bartender's thoughts told me that he'd read the V on Hadley and Beau and wanted an excuse not to serve them. When he carded Hadley, he'd found it.

"That's not you," the bartender repeated, pointing at Hadley's ID. The bartender wasn't a big man—Beau towered over him—but his voice was steady and he was thinking about the gun he'd tucked under the bar.

"It is." Hadley sounded desperate. She really wanted that drink. When she turned to Beau for support, she caught sight of me. Hope flickered across her face. "Sookie," she said, as if I were an old friend. "Tell him who I am."

A drink was the last thing Hadley needed. She looked unsteady on her feet and her thoughts were muddled. I wondered how many years it had been since she'd done V, and how much she'd taken today. Vampire blood was unpredictable under normal circumstances. There was no telling what it would do to an ex-vampire.

The bartender looked about happy to see me as I was to see Hadley, which is to say, not at all. He was worried I'd side with her. Two V addicts was trouble enough. Three was a brawl waiting to happen. When he caught sight of Eric and realized we were together, his fingers started itching for his shotgun.

I sympathized. If our situation were reversed—if this was Merlotte's—I'd want us off the premises tout de suite. In fact, I wanted that right now. It was just a question of how to make it happen.

Hadley and Beau looked raring for a fight. The air around them crackled.

For once, Eric was waiting on me. He watched Hadley with narrowed eyes. I appreciated the restraint. Eric was a big guy, so just about anything he did would escalate the situation. If there was any chance of us leaving without violence, I had to take the lead.

I took a deep breath, and touched Hadley's arm. "We've got to go."

"Okay," she said. I dared to hope, until she added, "After a drink."

The bartender glared. To give myself time to think, I took a closer look at Hadley's license. It was an old photo. She was almost unrecognizable. In the picture, Hadley's hair was dyed black, choppy and goth. Today, her hair was back to its natural brown, fixed in a Hollywood-style bun impaled by two chopsticks. I was sure the chopsticks were meant as a fashion statement, but to my eyes, they looked kind of like wooden antennae. At any rate, the Hadley standing at the bar looked like a different woman than the Hadley on the license.

I remembered the goth Hadley from Bon Temps. She'd been a cheerleader through high school, but she'd taken a swing towards the dark and dramatic the year before she'd run off to New Orleans. She'd probably been 15 then, right around the time she gotten her learner's permit. I'd have bet money that the picture on Hadley's license had been taken at the Renard Parish office of motor vehicles, the day she'd passed her driver's test. The state of Louisiana let those of us too lazy to brave the lines at the OMV use the same photo until we turned 25. I'd just updated mine.

I wondered if Hadley had made it that far.

"I changed my hair," Hadley said, in the understatement of the year.

"It's not the hair." I heard the real reason in the bartender's head a moment before he said it aloud—far too late to stop him. At least he was smart enough to pitch his voice low. "You a vampire, honey?"

He pointed at Hadley's license. At a V under her name.

V for vampire.

The bartender meant it as a rhetorical question. Of course he didn't think Hadley was a vampire. It was daylight, after all. But he did think she was drainer who'd killed a vampire, stolen her wallet, and was high enough to mix up IDs.

Hadley made a sloppy grab for the license, and stumbled against the bar. Sober enough to realize she was in trouble, she was too wasted to handle the trouble she'd caused.

My mind was working double-time. Hadley's turning had been on the books. The Queen was a public figure. She'd done everything above board. Hadley had gotten the paperwork to prove her new identity.

I couldn't believe she'd been stupid enough to use it now.

A hush had fallen over those within earshot. The men next me stopped talking. The nearest had his back to us, but I could tell he was listening with all his might.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. Eric.

"Come on." He put his arm around Hadley's shoulders and pointed her towards the exit. His voice was even, movements gentle.

Hadley twisted free. "Fuck off."

Wound tight, the bartender lost his temper. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you sure ain't Hadley Delahoussaye." He was thinking that he needed a new job. He was too old for this. He had a wife at home. Kids.

Hadley should have grabbed the license and let it go, but for some reason she took offense. "I am Hadley," she said, sounding just as mad as the bartender.

The bartender was angry enough to spell it out for her. "Honey, we don't serve drainers." He regretted saying it aloud, but not nearly as much I regretted hearing it. That word turned heads. A man across the bar looked up, sharp. The guy next to me—the one pretending not to eavesdrop—tensed.

If we hadn't been the center of attention before, we were now.

Eric didn't react, god bless him. He put his arm around Hadley shoulders, as if nothing had happened. But as he turned her towards the exit, Beau grabbed his shoulder. "Hands off my girl." Eric shrugged him off. His apathy incensed Beau. He grabbed the back of Eric's shirt and yanked. "Hey."

Eric moved so fast, I didn't realize what was happening. I blinked, and Beau was on the floor. When Eric shook his fist, I realized he'd punched Beau.

I heard a click.

The bartender had found his shotgun. He was aiming at Eric.

Eric barely reacted. He eyed the bartender with minimal interest, as if he was bored staring into the barrel of a 12-gauge that could end his life—or undeath—in seconds. Eric had spent 1000 years unafraid of guns, but I wasn't sure it was doing him any favors. A week ago, he'd been bulletproof, but today, he was just like the rest of us.

As if to prove my point, Beau lunged out of nowhere to grab Eric's legs. Eric took a table with him as he crashed to the ground.

The bartender fired. Patrons ducked. Thank god the shot went wide, ricocheting off a tin Bud sign to shatter a bottle of whiskey behind the bar.

For a horrible second, the bar was quiet. The only sound was Beau's grunting as he tried to land a punch on Eric. I was pleased to see Eric was trying to keep Beau at arm's length as he struggled to his feet.

The bartender leveled his gun at them.

"No," escaped my mouth, too loud. I forced myself to look at the bartender. "Don't shoot."

As I met the bartender's eyes, I slid into his thoughts.

The bartender was sure he'd lose his job if the cops showed up. Something about Sam—not my Sam—the Sam who owned this bar. His no-good son ran something out of the back. Or maybe it was Sam himself. There was a racket. Drugs. Or gambling. The details were fuzzy and honestly, I didn't want to know. I just felt lucky the police were persona non grata.

"You shoot, it will cause a fuss." By fuss, I meant fuzz, as in the fuzz. The bartender caught my drift. "I'll get them out of here." How, I wasn't sure, but that was the next hurdle. First, I had to keep Eric from getting shot. I stared at the bartender, trying to make him believe I was sober and good as my word. "We won't trouble you."

Any more than we already had.

Pumped on V, Beau was proving more of a challenge to Eric than I'd ever imagined he could be. Eric was still struggling to his feet. He'd just lost his temper, and punched Beau again.

That was the last straw.

A few of the patrons—big, tough guys—grabbed Eric and Beau. Eric was smart enough to stop struggling. Beau wasn't. It took three guys to get him under control and out the front door. The man who had his arm around Eric followed.

The bartender lowered his gun. "You'd better go."

It was the understatement of the day.

Hadley realized she'd overstepped—too late—and started after the men.

She forgot her ID on the bar.

As I picked it up, I met the bartender's gaze.

He thought my cousin was a dead woman, and it wasn't looking good for me either.

That wasn't exactly a pick-me-up. I pulled out of his head and started towards the exit. I reached it just as the big guys that had tossed out Beau and Eric came inside. They stopped and stared at me.

The message was clear.

Don't come back.

I hadn't been planning on it.

* * *

As I stepped outside, my eyes had to adjust to the dark. The sun was a sliver on the horizon. I was guessing we had 20 minutes tops before the vampires rose.

I was less than thrilled to see that Eric and Beau had resumed their fight. I was sure Beau had initiated round two, but at least Eric seemed to be winning it. I watched Eric land a punch. Beau's neck snapped back. He staggered, then shook his head as if he were a dog drying himself. He looked at Eric and smiled.

Beau looked crazy. Crazy high. When I'd had Eric's blood in Jackson, I'd wanted to climb walls. I could imagine that a fistfight would be an irresistible thrill.

As Beau punched Eric, the streetlights flickered on.

Shit.

Hadley slumped on the steps. She was half watching the fight, half resting her head. Her thoughts were a whorl. I'd never been dangerously drunk, but I'd tasted it in other's heads, and I felt something similar in Hadley. Her thoughts were disconnected fragments, with a skewed awareness of color and motion. It wasn't unlike what I got from dreamers.

I had no idea what to do. Hadley needed help. But, so did Eric. Beau seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Every time Eric hit him, it was like Beau didn't feel it. But when Beau punched Eric, you could see the blows land.

I could tell that Eric was tiring. He was running on reduced juice. Even so, he was bigger than Beau, and stronger than your average man. In life, he'd been a warrior. He'd had 1000 years to hone his fighting technique.

Beau was built like an athlete, but he didn't take care of himself. He couldn't have been more than 30, but he already had a paunch. Too many tallboys. Too much V.

And that was the problem. Beau had vampire blood running through his veins. For once, Eric did not. The V gave Beau an edge.

I hoped it wasn't decisive.

I felt like an idiot watching Eric get bloody and doing nothing to help, but I could hardly attack Beau with my bare hands. I scoured the stoop for any makeshift weapon. If I were a vampire, or high on V, maybe I could have broken off a piece of banister to clock Beau. But since I lacked super strength, I had to scrounge. Other than Hadley, the only thing on the stoop was a flowerpot. The geranium inside had long since died.

Beggars can't be choosers.

I picked up the pot just as Beau shoved Eric against a pickup. Eric hit his back at a strange angle and groaned.

There are groans, and then there are groans, and the one Eric made didn't sound good. He started scrabbling at his back. Maybe he was caught on the truck.

Beau seized his opportunity, and I seized mine. As Beau kicked Eric, I chucked the flowerpot.

I played varsity softball for four years. My talents may be few, but I can throw straight and hard. The pot hit Beau in the square of the back, knocking the wind out of him.

He spun to face me, just as Eric found whatever he was grabbing for against his back.

"Bitch." Beau started towards me.

Before I could reply, Eric struggled to his feet. I caught sight of a flash of silver, and realized he was holding a gun.

Pam's gun.

God help me, but seeing it felt like meeting an old friend. What did that say about the company I kept?

And if Eric was packing, why the hell hadn't he pulled it sooner?

"Hey," Eric called, and Beau turned around. Saw the gun. V or no V, he knew what it meant.

"Go." Eric's voice was hoarse, but he held the gun steady. He was bleeding from a cut on his lip.

Beau hesitated. He was thinking about storming Eric. Grabbing the gun.

"Don't be stupid." I said, and as Beau rounded on me, I had an idea. "The police are on their way. They found the V at the motel."

I wasn't certain that Beau had V in his room, but the bet paid off. Fear coursed though him. Thankfully, he was too addled to wonder how I knew something I couldn't possibly know.

"Fuck all y'all," he said, and spat on the ground. He looked around for Hadley, saw her lolling on the step, and decided to cut his losses.

As Beau took off into the row of trucks, I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. But it wasn't until I heard an engine start—until I realized he was really leaving—that I started towards Eric. He seemed alert, but he was leaning against the nearest truck like he needed the support.

"You okay?" He had a cut on his lip. He'd need to wash it.

"Sookie," Eric yanked me to him, just as I noticed headlights reflecting off the nearest truck.

Beau was in his pickup, and he was heading towards us.

Eric might have a gun, but Beau had a four-wheeler, and in a battle of machines, the truck won just about every time.

I dove into a nook between parked trucks, just as Eric pulled me in the same direction. I caught a mouthful of dust, kicked up by Beau's tires. It was a small price to pay. We were out of his reach, squeezed in the space between vehicles. Eric raised the gun, maybe for a warning shot, but I grabbed his arm.

"Don't." It would only antagonize Beau. Plus, if it came to a real fight, we couldn't afford to waste bullets.

Beau leaned on the horn and just about blew out my eardrum. Masculinity established, he blazed out of the lot.

Silence had never felt so good.

As a rule, I try not to curse, but right then, I might have let one slip.

"Yes," Eric said, and loosened his grip on my wrist. I'd been so panicked, I hadn't even realized he'd grabbed it.

He looked pissed. Surprisingly, it wasn't about the fight. He was thinking that he should have forced Beau to give us his truck.

If we wanted to avoid vampires, driving a drainer's vehicle was just about the worst thing we could do. But I didn't say anything to Eric. Beau was gone, so the issue was irrelevant, and another fight was the last thing we needed.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I felt way too close to Eric. The space between parked trucks didn't leave much breathing room. I slid past him, into the lot "How do we know he won't come after us?" I said, to cover. I hoped my story about the raid was enough to make Beau skip town, but we were marooned at the motel. If he returned, the situation would get ugly.

"We don't." Eric looked grim as he tucked Pam's gun into the back of his jeans.

The cut on his mouth was still bleeding. Sometime during the fight, blood had smeared on his shirt. Even in the low light, I could tell there'd be a stain. I wasn't sure that Eric had an extra t-shirt. In fact, I was pretty sure he didn't. He'd had been wearing the same clothes since he'd shown up at my house on New Year's. I'd done his laundry a few times, and never once been thanked.

_Concentrate, Sookie_ , I told myself. As far as things to worry about, Eric's apparel was minor.

"That looks like it hurts," I said to Eric, when he caught me staring.

"Yes," he said.

Silence.

I felt obligated to say something. Sorry you got punched kept running through my head, but wasn't sure how Eric would take it.

"Let's get home," I said, stopping myself from saying let's get you home just in time. I wondered where the protective impulse had come from.

Eric wiped his mouth. Glanced at his hand. I followed his gaze. His palm was smeared with blood. He was staring, like he'd never seen anything so interesting.

If I told him not to lick his fingers, would it be unforgivably rude?

Oh hell. Eric and I had passed rude days ago.

As I opened my mouth to speak, he glanced at me. Then, really looked. Realized I'd been staring. Turned back to his hand. I could see him put the pieces together.

He glared at me and wiped his hand on his shirt.

Creating another stain.

Great.

Eric needed Neosporin, if not stiches. Someone had to dress his cut. Unless Pam had undisclosed healing skills, I had a feeling that someone would be me.

Eric started towards Hadley.

She was still on the stoop. She leaned against the railing, eyes glassy. I wasn't sure if she knew what was going on. She hadn't reacted to the fight, or Beau's departure.

"I won't keep this secret," Eric said.

I didn't need to read his mind to know what he meant. He planned to tell Sophie-Anne about Hadley's indiscretion.

I didn't say anything. I didn't even know where to begin. Vampires reserved a special kind of savagery for drainers and the addicts who fueled their business. Would Hadley face the same treatment? She was a vampire—sort of—and a favorite of the Queen. Was that enough to give her a free pass?

Did Hadley even deserve a pass? She hadn't just been self-destructive, she'd put us all at risk. I didn't want her to die, but if there wasn't some sort of intervention, some sort of consequence, she'd continue to be a danger to herself and those around her.

That being said, I didn't know if Eric should tell the Queen. I didn't know what I thought. I had to sort out my feelings. Now was not the time.

First, we had to get Hadley home.

Eric approached her, but she didn't react. She was slumped over, eyes closed. I was half-afraid he'd be rough, but he slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her to her feet. Steadied her, as she wobbled.

Hadley looked at Eric, as if was seeing him for the first time. I knew the moment she recognized him, because she pushed him aside, with surprising strength. The V. "I'm fine." Her words slurred.

She started moving and he let her go. Hadley staggered in the direction of the road, then got distracted by light from a street lamp.

"She can't walk," Eric said.

I'd been thinking the same thing. Hadley might feel superhuman, but she was moving like a zombie. It was ten minutes to our motel. The walk was along the highway. If Hadley wandered into traffic, it would cause more attention than we could afford. Plus, I refused to let my cousin die like roadkill.

But what could we do? Eric and I didn't have a car. I wasn't strong enough to carry her. I looked at Eric. He knew what had to happen same as I.

"How's your back?" Beau had hit him hard.

"Good enough." He reached to his back and, for the second time that night, took out Pam's gun. "Don't want her picking my pocket." He passed the gun to me, handle first, then started towards Hadley.

It took me a second to realize why my heart rate had picked up.

Eric had given me a loaded gun.

Then turned his back.

This was the man who always picked a seat with a view of the exit.

I was so focused on Eric, it took me a few seconds to notice that Hadley had bent double.

She threw up all over her shoes.

* * *

I cleaned Hadley the best I could. All I had were the clothes on our backs and a couple old Kleenex in my sweatshirt pocket. She'd passed the feeling good part of wasted and was now just sick.

In a way, it was a blessing for us. When Eric picked her up, she didn't fight.

Eric and I discussed our options on the way to the motel. Under ideal circumstances we'd leave town. Eric suggested stealing a car. I vetoed. If we were arrested and the vampires identified, the curse would become public record.

As soon as I pointed that out, Eric realized I was right. "Better Threadgill finds out than the world," he said, with a kind of grim humor. I agreed. I could only imagine the potential disaster if the Fellowship of the Sun, for instance, realized that vampires could become human.

As far as Threadgill, or local vampires, finding out—it all depended on who'd seen the incident at the bar and where their loyalties lay. It was a blessing that the fight had happened before sunset. Any vampire would hear news secondhand.

If anyone wanted to find us, vampire or otherwise, neither Eric nor I thought it would be difficult. We were obviously outsiders. With one motel in town, any pursuer wouldn't have to work hard to find us.

Without a car, our options were holing up in the motel or staying the night in a public place. As risky as the motel was, the chances of the vampires being spotted and identified in public were even higher.

"First thing tomorrow, we'll leave," Eric said.

If our car was repaired. The mechanic has said 24 to 48 hours. Tomorrow was by no means a sure thing, but I didn't bother bringing it up. We had enough problems as it was.

When we reached the motel, I stopped at reception to ask for an extra room, in case anyone had eyeballed us coming out of 12 and oh-so-lucky 13. But with nightfall, the motel had been filled up by truckers, so we were out of luck.

Beau's pickup wasn't anywhere to be seen. I hoped my lie about the raid had been enough to make him leave town.

As I took Hadley inside room 13, Eric stopped by Pam's to bring her up to speed.

Hadley was lethargic, almost catatonic. Under normal circumstances, I'd have thought about calling a doctor, but we couldn't afford the exposure. I'd have to do the best I could.

I folded Hadley into bed and filled a glass of water. I put it on the side table. I brought the trashcan, in case she was sick again. I brushed her hair out of her face. Took those dumb chopsticks out of her bun and put them on the dresser. I was about to ease Hadley out of her top, when I looked up to see Eric in the doorjamb, watching me.

He had a strange look on his face.

"What?" I said.

"Nothing."

It wasn't, but he didn't elaborate.

"I'm staying here," I said. Hadley needed someone to watch her. I was willing to bet the last time Eric had taken care of anyone coming off V was never. Not that I had a lot of experience, but I trusted my nursing skills more than his. "You can sleep with Pam."

Eric hesitated. Then, he stepped inside my room. He put Pam's pistol on the dresser, next to the chopsticks. "I'd rather stay," he said. "In case—"

He didn't need to say it.

In case Hadley's indiscretion brought visitors.

I nodded. If anyone showed up, I felt better with Eric and a gun in the room.

Eric looked at me again. I couldn't read his expression. He seemed like he was about to say something—and I actually wondered what it was—but then his eyes flickered from my face to my hand, still resting on Hadley's back. I'd been about to unzip her top.

"I'll give you privacy," he said.

He walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

* * *

When I woke up, Hadley was moving.

She looked at me like she had no idea who I was, then her eyes focused. Recognition dawned.

"Where am I?" Her voice was hoarse.

"Drink," I passed her water, but she pushed it aside. Her movements were sloppy. She seemed drunk, but at least she wasn't dying.

Hadley wondered why her body hurt so much. Realized she was human. Remembered the curse. I caught a wave of despair. "This is a dream."

"No."

I tried to give her water again, but she just looked at me. For the first time, it was as if she really saw me. "Sookie."

I didn't trust myself to speak.

"I'm sorry." Hadley was thinking about a baby. I didn't recognize it, but they mostly look the same to me. It had dark eyes. So did the Queen, I discovered as Hadley's thoughts slid to a new subject. "I love her," she said, and meant it, although her thoughts were colored by frustration.

I didn't know what to say. I was glad Hadley had found love. Was I glad she'd found it with the Queen?

You tell me.

"I made a mistake." Whether Hadley was talking about the Queen, tonight, being a vampire, what she did to me, or to our family at large, I didn't know. I wasn't sure Hadley knew herself. Her thoughts soaked in self-pity. "I just want—"

She trailed off. She looked miserable. Her hair clung to her forehead in sweaty streaks.

Lord help me, but I felt sorry for her. Hadley was locked in a losing battle with herself. The world was tough enough, and she was one of those people who made it even harder.

If Hadley had been human, maybe rehab could have helped her. Maybe she could train herself out of her addictions. But in being turned, Hadley had taken herself out of the human world. Now, she faced different rules. I didn't know what would happen to her.

I feared it was nothing good.

Angry as I was at Hadley, I saw no reason to be cruel to her. The world would do all that and more.

She hiccupped. I took the opportunity to press the glass of water to her lips. She had no choice but to gulp it down.

"Rest." It was the only thing that would help her.

"I'm not tired," she said, but after a minute or two, her eyes flickered shut.

As I turned away from Hadley, I caught sight of Eric, in a chair. He was leaning back, as if he'd been dozing, but his eyes were open. Watching me.

He was thinking about when I invited him into my home, New Year's Eve.

I couldn't imagine why.

* * *

After that, I tossed and turned. Dozed, if I were lucky, but, it hardly felt like sleeping. I was jerked awake by Hadley's movements, the creaking of the motel. Every sound seemed like someone coming after us.

Eric was just as restless. Each time I opened my eyes, he seemed to be awake already. He watched the front window. His hand rested inches from Pam's gun, which lay on the dresser beside him.

About 3 am, our fears arrived.

Crunch of tires. Whirring engine. Lights shone through the motel window.

Eric looked at me. Got to his feet.

I rolled out of bed. Stood up.

The engine died. The lights went off and with it, the room plunged into darkness. Eric thumbed something into his phone. A text. It lit up as he sent.

Pam, in the next room. Our backup.

All I could see was the whiteness of the lampshade, the glow of Eric's eyes, and the sheen of Pam's gun as he took it off the table beside him.

Eric looked at me and thought, Quiet.

I didn't need to be told twice.

Footfalls outside. Boots on concrete. The sound stopped. I held my breath.

A knock on our door.

"Hadley Delahoussaye?" A man's voice.

I cast for his mind, and found a void.

A vampire.


	20. The Wringer

"Hadley Delahoussaye?" the vampire asked.

For maybe the first time ever, I wished Eric could hear my thoughts. I didn't know how to mime vampire, short of making fangs with my fingers. My heart was beating so fast, I couldn't think straight.

The vampire knocked again.

Eric knew something was wrong, if not exactly what. He stared at me, as if trying to will knowledge from my head into his. I met his gaze, pointed at the door, and mouthed vampire.

Why hadn't I just thought of that in the first place?

Eric's eyes widened. He cast his gaze towards the dresser. I looked too, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what he wanted me to see.

"Hadley?" the vampire repeated. I knew he could hear us. I assumed motels didn't count as private residences, so we couldn't stop him from entering the room. He could break down our door any time he wanted.

By knocking, he was just being polite.

I wanted to keep us polite as long as possible.

"One second," I said. I motioned Eric back to the shadows, not that it would provide much cover from a vampire. Eric could have hidden in the bathroom, but it would take too long to communicate and I was willing to bet that vampire had already heard that there were two of us. Hiding Eric would make it look like we had something to conceal.

Which we did.

I cracked the door.

I had no plan, but I couldn't put it off any longer.

The vampire was slight man, wearing a cowboy hat. Whether he'd actually been a cowboy, or if it was an affectation, I didn't know.

Honestly, I didn't care.

He looked me in the eyes, and hit me with his glamour. I could feel it pressing on the sides of my mind—an almost pleasant buzz.

"Open the door," he said.

After a moment of indecision, I did. If I'd refused, the vampire would have opened it for me. Then he would be pissed, and know I couldn't be glamoured, both of which would put me at a disadvantage. The last thing I needed was a report reaching Peter Threadgill that a telepath was running around with the Queen of Louisiana's girlfriend.

"Hadley?"

So the vampire didn't know what she looked like. "No," I said.

"What's your name?"

"Fiona Jones." Fiona was the heroine of the romance novel I was reading. I had a hunch the vamp wouldn't get the reference.

He didn't. "Where's Hadley?"

"Hadley who?"

His eyes narrowed, but he seemed to have no idea I was being anything other than forthright. "The vampire you drained."

Having never been interrogated under glamour, I wasn't exactly sure how it worked. Could I only respond to direct questions? Or could I volunteer information? I decided to push my luck. Eric, Hadley, and I needed all the help we could get. "We didn't drain anyone."

As soon as I said 'we,' I realized my mistake. The vampire looked over my shoulder to suss out the room. Find my companions. And as soon as he did, he saw Eric.

There was no immediate 'aha,' no instantaneous recognition. Eric hadn't been exaggerating when he said he wasn't known in Arkansas.

Thank god.

When the vampire turned his back to me, Eric met my gaze. Again, he cast his eyes towards the dresser.

What the hell did he want me to see?

"Stay," the vampire told me, and I did my best to look obedient and stationary as he started towards Eric.

As soon as the vampire turned his back, I looked at the dresser. It was crowded with random crap. Hadley's makeup. A discarded dress. The chopsticks I'd taken out of her hair.

The wooden chopsticks I'd taken out of her hair.

I looked back to Eric, just in time to see the vampire glamour him. Eric was alert one minute, and the next, his face went slack. It was like someone flipped a switch.

This was the moment Eric had been dreading. And now, I was dreading it too. I might have been able to lie to the vampire, but Eric didn't have that luxury.

"What's your name?" the vampire asked.

"Eric," said Eric.

The vampire didn't look amused. "Full name."

"I am called Northman."

Eric's face might not have gotten a reaction, but his name certainly did. The vampire was silent a beat too long. I could see a hundred questions flash across his face. He settled on a relatively cautious, "Where are you from?"

"Area 5 in the Kingdom of Louisiana," Eric said, unintentionally throwing himself—and his Queen—under the bus.

I couldn't imagine what the vampire was thinking. As far as I knew, there was no precedent for this kind of curse. No vampire had ever turned human. Did the vampire believe Eric was truly Eric? Or did he assume Eric was a human someone had glamored into thinking he was the Sheriff of Area 5?

If the vampire was confused, he didn't show it. "Who sent you?"

"Sophie-Anne LeClerq."

That got the biggest reaction yet. The vampire's eyes went wide. "Sit," he said. Eric obeyed. The vampire pulled up a chair himself, and sat facing Eric. He was settling in for the long haul. "Why?"

"To prove Peter Threadgill cursed us," Eric said.

The vampire was hanging on Eric's every word. In fact, he was so focused on Eric, he didn't notice me until I was right behind him, and by then it was too late to stop me from pushing one of Hadley's chopsticks into his chest.

The vampire looked down at my hand—at the stake—and his eyes widened.

"I told you to stay," he said.

Then, he crumpled.

I'd just staked my second vampire. I didn't feel great about it, and I didn't want to make a habit of it, but now was not the time to reevaluate my lifestyle.

I knelt next to Eric. He still seemed out of it, so I shook him, gently at first, then harder. His eyes refocused. "Sookie," he said, and he sounded relieved.

"I staked him." My voice was surprisingly steady.

"Good," Eric said, but the little color he had was gone.

"Are you okay?"

Eric nodded, but it was more like he was willing himself to be fine. He looked exhausted, and his face was bruising. The cut near his mouth still looked ugly. I wanted to clean him up—Band-Aids, Neosporin, the works—but wasn't sure where we'd find a first aid kit.

Eric glanced at the vampire, who was already starting to flake. "What did I tell him?"

I didn't want to say 'everything,' even though it was very nearly accurate, because I didn't want Eric to feel worse than he already did.

"He didn't recognize you." I watched Eric for a reaction, but his face was blank. He seemed to be bracing himself. "When he learned your name, he was surprised." I didn't say when you told him your name, even though Eric was smart enough to connect the dots. There was no reason to rub salt on his wound. "If Threadgill's behind this, the vampire didn't know it." I hadn't realized that until I said it aloud, but upon saying it, I was pretty sure it was true. The vampire hadn't been expecting a human Eric, and he'd been taken aback when Eric mentioned Sophie-Anne.

Eric's expression was neutral. If I hadn't read his mind, I wouldn't have been able to tell how angry he was. Angry at himself, mostly, even though the incident hadn't been his fault. He was frightened too, and grateful I'd acted when I did. His heart was beating fast. He had trouble concentrating on anything except how fast it was going, and how much he wanted it to slow down. He felt disoriented. He tried to remember what had happened, but his mind was blank between seeing the vampire, and then, my face. Eric couldn't have helped being glamoured, but I had a feeling if I said that, it would only make him feel worse. That was his issue, right? Under glamour, he couldn't help himself. In an instant, he was powerless.

It was a feeling I knew too well. I understood why Eric hated it.

I thought Eric was being too tough on himself. In fact, he'd helped us out of the situation. If he hadn't pointed out Hadley's chopsticks, I doubted that I could have acted in time.

Before I could say anything, Eric knelt next to the vampire and started going through his pockets. Activity was the best medicine, as Gran always used to say. After a few seconds he came out with a set of car keys and a cash clip. "No wallet," he said. "No identification."

He said that as if it were significant. "Meaning?"

Eric shrugged. "My people register."

I assumed Threadgill's vampires did the same. Most mainstreamers tried to stick to the letter of the law. If this vampire was outside the hierarchy, was it good for us? Would he be missed?

Eric's expression gave me no indication. "We'll have to get rid of the car."

"Dump it?"

"Maybe." Eric looked at Hadley. She hadn't moved once. Her chest was rising and falling, thank goodness, but otherwise, she was dead to the world. I can't say that I envied her, but it would have been nice to have slept through the last half hour.

"Too bad he doesn't have an ID," I said, thinking aloud. "We could have left the car at his address. " Anyone checking up on him might assume he'd gone home and met a demise that had nothing to do with us.

My suggestion made Eric smile. "Unless it was a false address," he said, after a moment. "Or, unless he lives with other vampires."

Hm. He had a point.

"Let's check the car, regardless." I wanted to know who this vampire was and, in an ideal world, who had sent him. If we didn't know our enemy, it wasn't likely that we'd see him coming.

Eric nodded and picked up Pam's gun. I took Hadley's chopstick from the rapidly flaking vampire. Just in case.

Eric looked at me. He was ready. I was as ready as I'd ever be.

I walked to the door, turned the knob, and stepped into the lot. But before I so much as saw the vampire's car, something crashed into my head, and everything went black.

* * *

I woke up to find Pam leaning over me. We were both in bed and—I'm pleased to report—both fully clothed. If I didn't know any better, I'd have called Pam's expression sheepish.

"Sorry," she said.

That set off my alarm bells. Apologies from Pam did not happen every day, or even every year. In fact, this might be the first time she'd said sorry to me. Ever.

My head throbbed. I felt like I'd been hit by a ton of bricks. Literally.

"What happened?" Last I remembered, Eric and I were checking the vampire's car.

"I hit you," Pam said, matter-of-fact. "I didn't know it was you," she added, probably in response to the shocked look on my face. "Otherwise I wouldn't have done it."

For the life of me, I couldn't think of what to say. I felt very tired.

"When Eric alerted me to the intruder, I waited outside your door. I thought I'd get him on the way out. You were the first to emerge. It was dark. My senses are not what they were." Pam actually seemed contrite.

My ears were still ringing. "Did you use an anvil, Pam?" It sure felt like it.

"A lamp," she said, and she was thinking it was fortunate that Eric had kept her gun.

I agreed.

"Eric told me you staked the vampire," she said, and I nodded. She smiled at me. She seemed proud. "Good."

I didn't feel particularly good about it. The vampire hadn't attacked me or Eric—just questioned us. Now, through no fault of his own, he was dead. I wasn't going to fool myself and call the vampire an innocent, but he wasn't guilty either. He'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When I'd staked Lorena, the situation had felt a lot clearer. She would have killed me, and gladly. I acted in self-defense. This vampire would have attacked me too, if I'd given him a reason. Chances were he'd have no qualms. But it hadn't come to that. I'd gotten to him first.

I'd done what I'd had to do. I didn't think it was something to be proud of.

I didn't feel like unburdening to Pam, so I changed the subject. "How long have I been out?"

"Not more than a half hour. Hadley's up. We're heading back to Louisiana."

My first feeling was relief. The second, annoyance. Had we come this far just to turn around? "What about Threadgill's hotel?" I forgot its name, but Pam understood what I meant.

"You're going," she said. "You and Eric. I'm taking Hadley home."

I could understand why Eric would want to get rid of Hadley, but we were marooned until our car got out of the shop. Or until Eric snapped and hotwired some poor bystander's vehicle. "How?"

Pam held up the vampire's car keys.

"Is that wise?" What if someone had sent out an alert? What if Pam got picked up by the police?

"It's almost dawn," she said. "I believe this was a last errand on his way home. Eric agrees. He will not be missed until tomorrow nightfall, and by then, we will be gone."

At best, that sounded like an educated guess, at worst, wishful thinking. If there were any way the car could be traced back to Bon Temps, the consequences could be extreme.

Pam must have noticed my frown, because she said, "Under the circumstances, it's the best we can do. We have to get rid of the car. Eric wants your cousin gone."

Gone meant out of his hair. Eric couldn't discipline the Queen's girlfriend. Not without putting himself in a difficult position. Better to make it the Queen's problem.

I could connect the dots. I was surprised it had taken me this long. "You're going to tell Sophie-Anne what happened."

Pam just looked at me. There was no reason to confirm what we both knew to be true.

"What will happen to her?"

"She's done nothing for you, Sookie—" Pam started.

"That wasn't my question."

"She's a favorite," Pam said, after a pause. "She'll be all right."

* * *

After that, Pam went to speak with Eric and Hadley. I took advantage of the rare privacy and slipped into the shower.

I knew Pam's definition of all right differed from mine. I took it to mean that Hadley would survive, which was good, because as angry as I was at her, I couldn't have stood by if she faced execution.

I wanted Hadley gone, but I didn't want her dead, or even hurt. She brought enough pain on herself. Would the Queen treat Hadley with mercy? Hopefully. But regardless, it wasn't going to be my idea of mercy. Just considering the possibilities made me shudder.

Should I try to stop Eric from telling the Queen? I didn't even know if I could. For all I knew, he'd already called her. After all, Eric had to supply a reason for sending Hadley back to Bon Temps. Her behavior gave him the justification he needed.

But even if it were possible to convince Eric to keep his mouth shut—should I try?

I knew my cousin well enough to know that if we kept this incident secret, she'd push the boundaries again. Maybe next time, she'd go further. I'd seen Hadley play the same games with Gran and my Aunt Linda. See how far she could get, seek forgiveness, then fall back into her old patterns.

I sympathized with Hadley feeling trapped. I understood her second thoughts about being a vampire. But that didn't give her free rein to sabotage our attempts to break the curse. Dozens of vampires' lives had been upended by this spell. Hadley had no right to choose their path for them.

We couldn't keep Hadley here. We couldn't send her home without telling the Queen.

There wasn't a good choice to be made.

I shut off the shower. I didn't feel great, but I'd reached my decision and I had to live with it.

I felt a pang of guilt and wondered what Gran would think of me.

On my way out of the bathroom, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Pam had clocked me in the back of the head. I'd have a lump, but my hair would cover it. I was glad she didn't get me in the face, for obvious reasons, not the least of which was that Eric and I would have matching bruises. We drew enough attention as it was. I couldn't imagine the kind of looks we'd get if we both walked around looking like we'd been through the wringer.

I entered the bedroom to find Hadley leaning over my dresser. She seemed alert, and she'd put on a fresh change of clothes.

"How are you feeling?" I said, bracing myself for a confrontation.

She barely looked at me. She was focused on something—I couldn't see what. "I know this woman."

I had no idea what she was talking about. Tucking in my towel, I approached her.

Hadley was staring at the old photograph I'd found in Marnie's possessions. It showed a group of wait staff posing on a grand staircase. One of them was Marnie's mom.

"Which woman?" I asked.

Hadley pointed to a maid. I couldn't be sure, but I thought she was sitting next to Marnie's mother. I flipped the photograph over. Front row. 4 & 5 from L. Mom and Octavia, read the penciled note on the back.

"Octavia," Hadley said. "That's it. She knows my landlady. Swings by sometimes."

What were the odds of that?

"Are you sure?" We couldn't go messing up a poor woman's life on a hunch.

"Absolutely," Hadley said. "It's not a common name."

"Then, you should tell the vampires."

Hadley looked surprised. "Why?" Her implication was clear. Why should I do anything for them?

Hadley had forgotten, rather quickly, that she was one of them.

"Because if you don't, I will," I said, and meant it.

I hated to put this Octavia, whoever she was, in danger. But good choices were a luxury I didn't have. If word of the curse got out no vampire would be safe. If this spell became a tool to a group like the Fellowship, or even the government, I couldn't imagine the consequences. It would be a disaster, and not only for the vampires of Louisiana. The curse had to be broken, and knowledge of it buried. This wasn't about any one person: not Octavia, not Hadley, and certainly not me. Much more was at stake.

Hopefully, Octavia would help us. At the very least, she was a link to Marnie's mother, whatever that was worth.

Hadley glowered, like I'd done something wrong. She was thinking she should have kept her mouth shut. I was glad she didn't, but looking at it from her angle, I had to agree. Why had she told me, if she wanted to stonewall the investigation?

Because she hadn't thought it through, said the uncharitable voice in the back of my head. Because Hadley didn't think anything through.

"It will sound better coming from you," I said. Better for Hadley, that was. Right now, she needed all the help she could get.

Hadley grabbed the photograph and stomped towards the door. "You know, I came here to apologize," she said, slamming the door behind her.

She made it sound like the fight was my fault.

In her mind, it probably was.

* * *

After that, I felt rotten, but there was no use worrying about something I couldn't fix, so I toweled my hair and got dressed. I'd tied one shoe and was just about to start the second, when headlights shining in my window alerted me to a disturbance. I went to the door, just in time to see the vampire's car backing out of its parking space. Pam, behind the wheel, raised a hand to me. Hadley, sulking in the passenger seat, didn't look up. I wondered if she knew they were headed back to Louisiana.

If I were in Eric's position, would I have told her?

"So they're going," I said to Eric, watching from his own door. I didn't think it was the greatest plan, but I didn't have a better alternative. I hated to see Pam go, but it was a relief to be free from Hadley.

"We should too." He opened his door to me, and motioned me inside.

As I followed, the weight of what had happened hit me.

I was on my own. With Eric.

There was no Pam as a buffer. No Hadley to ally us. For the first time since he'd shown up on my doorstep New Year's Eve, it was just us two.


	21. Any Old Guy

Beau's room was empty, thank god, but that didn't make me feel better about breaking into it.

Gran hadn't raised me to steal. She hadn't raised me to stake vampires either, but she did teach me to play the hand life deals you. And right now, life had given Eric a bloody shirt and us no legal way of replacing it.

We had two options. We could hope no one looked twice at Eric's bruised face and blood-stained clothing, or he could clean himself up while I found him another outfit.

Beau's truck wasn't in the parking lot. I'd bet he was long gone, fleeing the police raid I'd invented out of thin air. As far as I knew, Beau hadn't been back at the motel since our fight. If that was the case, he'd left his possessions in his motel room. Chances were he had an extra T-shirt.

Stealing wasn't ideal, but we didn't have other options. We had to skip town, and fast. I didn't have time to wash Eric's shirt, and I wasn't certain that hand soap—all I had at my disposal—would remove bloodstains. The staked vampire's clothes hadn't flaked away with his body, but there was no way they'd fit Eric. He had been slight and Eric was nothing if not big. Plus, his shirt had a hole in it, courtesy of my stake.

When I suggested we try Beau's room for a change of clothes, Eric looked at me like I was crazy.

"Give me another option," I said, and he couldn't. This wasn't the type of town with a 24-hour Wal-Mart. "Next time, pack a change of clothes."

"There will be no next time," Eric said, and I had to agree with him.

I cast my mind around Beau's room before entering, just to be safe.

It was empty.

I used a credit card to open his lock. Eric had suggested it. I'd seen the tactic in movies, but I was surprised when it actually worked. As a motel guest, the smooth break-in didn't make me feel great about my own safety, but it certainly made my life easier.

A quick riffle through Beau's drawers revealed three T-shirts. The first had a bald eagle on the front, the second the Harley logo. The last read Dallas Cowboys. After a moment of consideration, I chose the Cowboys. If anyone asked Eric about Tony Romo's playoff chances, he'd have to fend for himself. I also snatched a flannel button-down. It was winter, after all. Eric couldn't be walking around in shirtsleeves. Beau had been wearing his coat when he skipped town, or I would have taken that too.

Beau's jeans looked wide in the middle and short in the leg, so I left them. Eric's pants were dark. They'd hide any blood.

I didn't expect Beau to have a first aid kit, but Eric needed stitching up and I decided a quick poke through the bathroom couldn't hurt. I didn't find any Band-Aids, but I did stumble across a half-drunk vodka bottle Beau had stashed under the sink.

I took it.

When I reentered our room, Eric looked amused. "This early, Sookie?" he said, eyeing the liquor.

"Quit." Eric's sense of humor was one of his redeeming qualities, but right now, I was too exhausted to fend off his teasing. "It's for your face." For the cut on his mouth, specifically. I'd have preferred peroxide, but once again, our options were limited.

Eric's eyes narrowed. He didn't seem thrilled at the idea of me pouring alcohol onto his open wound. Go figure. At least he kept his mouth shut. I tossed him Beau's shirt. He caught it. Eyed the front. Cowboys.

"Football," I explained, and Eric glared at me.

"I can see that," he said, and pointed to the helmet printed on the shirt.

Eric had known who the Cowboys were, and he felt like I was condescending to him. He was peeved enough his thoughts slipped past my shields.

Well, fine. How was I supposed to know? He'd never given me any indication that he paid attention to sports.

I'd only been trying to help. Now, I felt a little peeved myself.

"They're playing Seattle this weekend. Playoffs." I was fairly certain Eric's Cowboys knowledge stopped with the fact of their existence. I'd bet money he didn't follow sports with any level of interest. Why? He didn't follow humans with any level of interest. "In case anyone mentions it."

Eric gave me a blank look. I didn't feel like talking football with him and he didn't seem to have much to say to me, so I went into the bathroom to grab a paper towel and a cup of water for first aid.

When I came back, Eric was shirtless. I stared, but not for the usual reasons.

Beau had beaten him worse than I thought. Eric had a few bruises on his torso and an angry red mark along his back, probably from where he'd slammed into the truck.

He looked so bad, the anger just ran out of me. I felt sorry for him. A few weeks ago, I'd been beaten pretty badly myself. If we could have gone to a hospital, I'd have taken him. But we didn't have that luxury.

There wasn't anything I could do about Eric's bruises. Time would heal them. But the cut near his mouth was another story. It had to be cleaned. I wasn't a nurse, but in the past six months, I'd done more first aid than the rest of my life combined. Most of it on myself.

I sat across from Eric. Poured some vodka on the paper towel. The smell made me think of Jane Bodehouse. "This will probably hurt."

Eric just looked at me.

All right, Mr. Macho.

I pressed the towel into Eric's jaw and began to wipe around his wound. His beard had started to come in. It was blond, so you couldn't see it unless you were close, like I was. In another day or two, he'd look scruffy.

"How does it feel?"

"It hurts." He didn't sound accusatory. He was stating a fact.

I dripped the dry end of the towel in the water, and pressed it to his cut. My fingers were very close to his lips.

It was then that I realized that Eric could have cleaned his own face himself.

"How's your head?" he asked.

I was feeling lightheaded, but I didn't think that was what he was talking about.

"Pam," he said. "The lamp."

Oh that. "I'll live."

"Yes," he said, as he shrugged into Beau's T-shirt. "Me too."

* * *

We arrived at the mechanic at eight, when it opened.

Eric had put on Beau's Cowboys shirt and the flannel button down. With the change of clothes he was looking more like any old guy. The kind of guy that might come into Merlotte's. It was good for us. The less attention Eric and I attracted, the better.

Even so, the mechanic did a double-take when he saw Eric. He looked like he'd been punched in the face, which was, in fact, exactly what had happened.

At least the mechanic knew better than to ask. He wanted to get rid of us. I was able to glean that much from his thoughts. He thought we looked like trouble.

In a way, I guess we were.

"I was just about to call," the mechanic said, forcing a smile. "Your car's finished."

I said a little thank you to Jesus. It was the first stroke of luck we'd had in what felt like forever.

As Eric went inside to pay, I stayed in the lot to phone Merlotte's. It was early, but Sam was a morning person. He was usually in the bar around eight for deliveries.

"Hey," I said, when he answered.

"Sookie." It was relief to hear his voice. "How's Nashville?"

"Good," I said, feeling guilty all over again for lying. "Listen, Sam, I have a favor to ask." I'd meant to call him last night and ask him to check on Jason's girlfriend in Hotshot. With the hullaballoo over Hadley, I hadn't had a chance.

"Ask away."

"Jason's been dating a girl in Hotshot. Crystal Norris. Hoyt was planning to go over last night and ask around, but I was hoping you might go yourself, when you have a few free minutes." I hesitated, trying to figure out how to say 'since you're a shifter' without actually saying it. "Considering the community."

I didn't specify further, but Sam was a smart guy. He knew what I meant. Hotshot was a shifter town and they were more likely to open doors to one of their own.

"I hear the man to talk to is Calvin Norris," I said.

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Bill tell you that?"

It had been Eric, but the last thing I wanted to do was bring him into it. I had troubles enough without multiplying them. "Sure."

"I know Calvin." Sam sounded cautious. "I also know Hotshot's not friendly to outsiders."

That didn't sound good for Jason. "You think he's there?"

"I think I'll go today," Sam said. "I can reach you on your cell?"

"Anytime," I said. "I can't thank you enough."

"You'd do the same for me," he said, as if that were the end of it. "Take care of yourself."

I told him to do the same and we hung up.

"That the shifter?" Eric had our keys in his hand. I nodded and fell into step beside him. "How's your brother?"

"Still missing." There wasn't much more to say.

"You try Hotshot?"

"Today."

Eric nodded, and that was the end of it. He didn't offer any false assurances, which I actually appreciated. He unlocked the driver's side door, then paused.

"Would you like to drive?" he asked.

* * *

I did want to drive. One of my favorite pick-me-ups was hitting the open road with music on and windows down. Before now, it was strictly a solitary ritual. It felt strange to be sharing it with Eric, of all people.

Strange, but he seemed to know where I was coming from. Eric rolled down the passenger window and had his arm on the door. He looked like he was enjoying the sunshine, although I'd never call him on it.

He was quiet, which was fine by me. I could tell he was almost as tired as I was. I knew he'd barely slept last night. I certainly hadn't. And every time I'd opened my eyes, he'd been awake.

We fixed the radio to the local country station. I had to forgo my usual Shania fix, but Dierks Bentley subbed in just fine. We fell into a companionable silence. After a few minutes, Eric changed the radio off country, but he seemed to favor hard rock—good driving music—so I didn't mind.

When we got back on the interstate, I could go as fast as I liked.

"You drive well," Eric said, as I cut off an old Chevy.

It was an odd compliment, but, god help me, it made me smile. It was just nice to hear something nice.

We were heading due north. The plan was to hit Threadgill's hotel around noon, and be back in Louisiana before nightfall. The sooner I got home, the sooner I could look for Jason. By then, Sam would have news from Hotshot.

Maybe it was the sunlight or the open road, but at that moment, I felt like nothing would set us off course.

I should have known better.

At nine a.m. sharp, my cell rang.

"Is that Jason?" It was far-fetched, but I couldn't help hoping. My cell sat in the middle seat, between Eric and me.

Eric checked the display. "It's a New Orleans area code."

I held out my hand for the phone. I don't like to chat and drive, but these days I was making a lot of exceptions to my personal rules.

Eric opened the cell for me. I took one hand off the wheel to hold it to my ear.

"Sookie Stackhouse?" The caller was a woman.

Eric watched me. He seemed alert. Maybe even on edge. I guess the Louisiana area code had done nothing to set him at ease.

"Speaking."

"I'm Amelia," she said. "Hadley's landlady. I hear you found a photograph."


	22. Employee of the Month

"I hear you found a photograph."

"Yes." There was only one photo this Amelia could be referring to. The photo Hadley had recognized. The photo of Marnie's mother and her friend Octavia. That photograph had been taken at Poindexter Palace, the Arkansas hotel Eric and I were heading for at this very moment.

Hadley had recognized Octavia as a friend of Amelia, her landlady in New Orleans. In the photo, Octavia was a young woman. Judging from the out-of-date hairstyles, it had to have been taken thirty, maybe even forty, years ago. Octavia would be well into her 60s today.

"Hadley asked you to call?" I couldn't imagine any other way Amelia would have gotten my number.

"Sort of." Amelia sounded indignant. "She left a message. At five a.m." The, can you believe it? was implied. "Those vamps."

Those vamps, indeed. So Amelia had no idea that Hadley had been defanged, so to speak. Either that, or she was playing dumb.

I hoped for the first option and feared the latter. "Yeah. Those vamps," I said, to buy time. Amelia might sound clueless, but was she? It was one hell of a coincidence if Marnie's mother's friend happened to know Hadley's landlady.

Eric grabbed my arm. Between the mentions of Hadley and vampires, he wanted to know what was going on. I couldn't blame him.

I moved to hit the speaker button, and hesitated.

Did I trust Eric?

Not entirely.

But on the other hand, I didn't know if I could afford not to. Someone was onto us, as last night's vampire visitor had shown. I needed all the help I could get. As did he.

After a moment of hesitation, I hit the speaker button. A niggling sensation in the back of my mind told me I was making a mistake. But, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to be at war with the world, and Eric on top of it.

Amelia's next question threw me for a loop. "So, family history research? That's a neat job. How'd you get into it?"

I mustered an intelligent "Uh," before managing to connect my brain to my mouth. I might not know what the hell was going on, but at this point, it seemed best to play along. "What did Hadley tell you?" seemed like the safest starting point.

"Just that you're her cousin. And you're researching a client's family tree. Marty something—"

"Marnie Stonebrook." I could figure that much out. So I, Sookie Stackhouse, barmaid, was now a family history researcher. I had to give Hadley credit: it was a good cover story. I was impressed that she'd had come up with it. But then again, she'd always been an excellent liar.

"Right. Marnie." The name seemed to mean nothing to Amelia. I could have just as easily said Marie or Mary Lou. Amelia was either clueless, or an excellent actress. "Hadley said she was visiting you, saw the photo, and recognized Octavia. She was wondering if I could connect you two. Small world, huh?"

In my experience, the world wasn't that small. But before I could think of a harmless reply, Eric tensed. I glanced over at him. It took one look at his face to guess he'd had no idea about Hadley and the photo. His thoughts confirmed it. Hadley hadn't mentioned Octavia. And if Eric had been in the dark, Pam likely was too.

As puzzled through it, I realized Hadley hadn't just bypassed Eric, she'd probably gone over his head.

In other words, she'd gone straight to the Queen.

And why not? What did Hadley owe Eric? Nothing. Actually, less than nothing. He was sending her back to Sophie-Anne, in shame. She was in possession of information that would make the reunion go a whole lot smoother.

If Hadley told the Queen about the photo, she'd come up looking like the great investigator, and Eric would be the goof that let one slip through his fingers.

My fool cousin had one-upped Eric.

Eric seemed to reach that conclusion at the exact time I did, and he looked pretty pissed about it.

All of a sudden, I had yet another fire to put out. We might be blood, but Hadley seemed determined to make my life as difficult as possible.

"Sookie? You there?"

With all the one-upping, I'd forgotten about Amelia.

"Sorry, I'm driving." I gave Eric a hold your horses look. He glared, but sat back in his seat. He knew the importance of this call just as well as I did. "So can you? Connect us, I mean."

I wasn't sure if that was the best idea—what if this Octavia had helped curse the vampires?—but then again, she was one of the only leads we had. Someone had to talk with her, and if not me, then who?

"Well, sure," the landlady said. "I mean, I'll try. I'll give her your number. Octavia's a little," she hesitated, "private." By the way she said private, I could tell that word was subbing in for something else. "I wouldn't take it personal if she doesn't call straight away."

Eric and I didn't have time to dawdle. I might not trust this Octavia, but we had to talk to her, and soon. "Tell her it's about Marnie Stonebrook," I said. "Tell her I'm lucky to have found her." An idea hit me, and I was feeling desperate enough to act on it. "Tell her this whole research project's been, well, a little cursed."

Eric looked at me, sharp. I glared back at him. I didn't see him on the phone, sticking his neck out.

"Cursed?" Amelia's voice was hard all of a sudden, maybe even suspicious. Interesting. "How so?"

"You don't want to know." I meant every word. "Just tell Octavia."

I hung up.

If Octavia were truly Marnie's ally, my whole 'cursed' charade might have been reckless. But, on the other hand, I needed to get her attention. We were in it, and in deep. If Eric, Pam, and I were going to get out of this alive (or undead, as the case may be) we had to take risks.

"You showed Hadley the photograph?" Eric sounded grim.

"She found it," I said. "She recognized the woman with Marnie's mother. Said she was a friend of her landlady."

Eric actually started. "Are you serious?"

His reaction paralleled mine. And no wonder: this was a coincidence that strained credulity. Unless, it wasn't a coincidence. That scared me more than anything.

"Hadley seemed certain."

Eric was expressionless. "It was the landlady who called?"

I nodded. "I thought Hadley told you." Otherwise I would have mentioned it myself. I should have mentioned it, but my thoughts had been so scattered between Jason, Beau's break-in, and our car. I'd asked Hadley to tell Eric, and assumed she'd gone along with it.

I should have known better.

"She didn't." Eric sounded grim. He didn't say what we were both thinking. Hadley had gone straight to Sophie-Anne.

It wasn't for nothing that she'd survived so long as the Queen's favorite.

"Have you heard from Sophie-Anne?" Might as well see what we were facing.

Eric gave me a look. He was not pleased with the subject change. "You've been with me all morning."

I didn't know if the radio silence from her majesty was a good or bad sign and Eric didn't seem inclined to enlighten me.

"Eric, what's going on?" Two days ago I wouldn't have bothered asking, because there wouldn't have even been a chance of him answering. "Why are we in Arkansas?"

"To go to Threadgill's hotel." He was caution incarnate. Typical.

I glared. I wasn't impressed with his answer, and I didn't care if he knew it. At the risk of doing my best broken record, "Okay, but why? Does the Queen suspect him?" Sure, the Stonebrooks were from Arkansas, but I didn't think Threadgill would be foolhardy enough to attack Sophie-Anne with a curse that could just as easily be turned on him. All it would take was the right person to say the right Abracadabra and Threadgill would be human too.

I knew Eric agreed with me. He'd hinted as much. Plus, I had the advantage of reading his mind.

Eric gave me a good long look. He was thinking about stonewalling me.

"Her majesty has a low opinion of Threadgill's intelligence and a high estimation of his ambition," he said finally.

It was an honest answer.

Okay. So Sophie-Anne thought her husband-to-be had done the deed. That boded well for their marriage. Although now that I thought about it, vampires rarely played by human rules, so why would their marriages be any different? I shuddered. Maybe it was easy to disregard until death do you part when both parties were already dead.

Maybe someone was playing on the Queen's suspicions. "Who would want us to think Peter Threadgill is responsible?"

"Someone who wants a war between Arkansas and Louisiana," Eric said, without hesitating. He'd obviously been thinking it through.

I considered his words. It wouldn't be much of a war. Bill was a good fighter, but he couldn't hold the state alone. Any attack would mean total collapse for Sophie-Anne's regime.

"Or someone that wants to see the Queen fall," I said. "I mean, as soon as anyone finds out, y'all are toast. Doesn't matter if it's Threadgill, or Mississippi, or the Fellowship of the Sun. " When Eric glared at me, I realized I could have been more tactful. "Sorry."

"It's not just Louisiana." Eric looked grim. "We might be first, but if humans know this curse exists—"

He trailed off. He didn't need to finish his thought.

If word got out, no vampire would be safe.

And what did that revelation do for the list of suspects? It didn't make it any shorter, I'll tell you that much.

There were a lot of people who hated vampires.

* * *

The Poindexter Palace Hotel was a converted plantation home smack dab on the Mississippi. The driveway was grand, with well-kept oaks lining the route. A painted sign out front told us the hotel was on the National Register of Historic Landmarks.

"Founded in 1799," I read. "Wow. Old."

Eric raised his eyebrows. I realized we had a very different understanding of the word old.

He didn't say anything and I let it rest. Eric hadn't been in a chatty mood after Amelia's call, and for that matter, neither had I. Aside from some unavoidable planning, we'd pretty much driven the rest of the way to Poindexter Palace in silence.

We also hadn't heard from the Queen. Eric didn't reach out, and I didn't ask him about his plans regarding her. It wasn't any of my business, and honestly, the less I thought about the Queen, the better I felt. I knew I had to sit down and think through the mess with Hadley, Sophie-Anne, and Bill—the thought of him made my chest tighten—but there wasn't enough room in my brain. At least not now. I had to deal with the problem at hand before I could move on to more remote ones.

And my current problem was Peter Threadgill.

Or rather, his hotel. "Has Threadgill owned it since 1799?" I figured Eric had to have done his research since he was so keen on the idea of coming here.

Eric shook his head. "Recent acquisition."

His thoughts cued me in. Threadgill had come to power in the past decade. He'd been steadily increasing his holdings. Buying property along the river—hotels, and the like. Not casinos. But places that could easily make the transition.

I couldn't see why, since vampires were legally barred from owning gambling establishments, but then a stray thought of Eric's helped everything click it into place. Threadgill was hoping to push a bill through the Arkansas state legislature that would open up those revenue avenues. Eric had been watching with interest. The Shreveport area had its fair share of casinos.

That was all very interesting. What relevance it held for us, I had no idea.

I pulled into the parking lot. It was midday, so I supposed most of the hotel guests were out, but there were a handful of cars belonging to staff and tourists. There was a young couple snapping photographs of the house and grounds. They looked happy. I watched as the man slung his arm around the woman's shoulders.

I sighed. Actually—audibly—sighed.

It wasn't the hug, although I could do with one of those. They just seemed so happy. Carefree. They were on flipping vacation, for goodness sake. They had no idea the vampire apocalypse was imminent. In this case, ignorance was bliss.

What I wouldn't give to trade places.

As soon as I thought that, I regretted it.

I'd never wish my lot on anyone.

Eric was staring at me. "You all right?"

"Tired," I said, and it was only a halfway lie. I didn't even want to think about how little sleep I'd gotten last night.

Without waiting for Eric's reply, I got out of the car. He followed.

Eric put on his baseball hat, squinting in the sunlight. Whether it was disguise, or sun protection, I didn't know and, frankly, I didn't care. I was just glad he was wearing the cap. Eric couldn't help turning heads, but between the hat and the Dallas Cowboys shirt he was looking a little more unremarkable.

Which was good.

We needed all the unremarkable we could get.

Eric and I pushed into the front entrance. A perky woman sat behind the reception desk. As we approached, I gave her my best I'm trustworthy smile.

"Hi," I said, "I'm Sookie Stackhouse—" But before I could launch into the ridiculous fiction Eric and I had concocted, he touched my arm.

He so rarely touched me, it was a shock. I looked at him, sharp—but Eric's eyes weren't on me. He was staring straight ahead.

I followed his gaze.

Behind the desk was a line of Employee of the Month photographs. Smiling out at us were two pictures of Mark Stonebrook.

He'd won February and March of last year.

Well, whoop de doo.


	23. Family Tree

Mark Stonebrook grinned at me. Or rather, the photos of Mark Stonebrook. Mark himself wasn't going to be grinning, now or anytime soon.

Employee of the month, my ass. If you'd told me that the muscly, aggressive Mark Stonebrook had been a bodybuilder, or an ex-con, I wouldn't have thought twice. But employee of the month? At a fancy hotel like this?

"You know Mark?" the receptionist asked. She'd noticed my stare.

Great. Just great.

I glanced at Eric. He was glaring at the photographs of Mark like he wanted to murder him all over again.

Constructive.

The silence dragged. Should I come clean? Or stick to the plan? The receptionist seemed more curious with every passing second, so I figured I might as well scrounge up an answer. Had I known Mark?

"Not well," I said, which was the truth.

Luckily, that was all she needed to hear.

"Too bad for you," she said. "Nice guy. Best chef we ever had. You see him, you say Shelly from Poindexter says hi."

Nice guy? Were we talking about the same Mark? Last time I'd seen him, he'd tried to kill me.

"I sure will." I forced a smile. "You seen him recently?" If Shelly was a friend, maybe she had a clue about who hired him to curse the Louisiana vamps.

"No ma'am," Shelly said. "Not since he left work."

"And when was that?" Eric said, finally conceding the staring match with Mark's photo.

Shelly had to think. Eric made her edgy. Especially now that he was staring at her. She thought he was attractive, but unnerving. She wondered how he'd gotten those bruises. "Five months ago. Maybe six. Why? You looking for him?"

"We're working for his sister." I waited for Eric to finish the sentence and fill in our cover story, but he let it dangle. Like a lure.

Shelly seemed taken aback, but not for the reason I would have guessed. She stopped herself from saying, Mark has a sister? but I heard the question rush through her head.

"Doing what?" Shelly was confused, more than a little hurt, and doing a poor job of covering. She'd worked with Mark for over a year, and he'd never once mentioned a sister. They'd gone out for drinks. He'd come over to her house for dinner. She considered him a friend. She was sure she'd asked Mark about his family. Had he lied?

She hadn't pegged him as that type of guy.

"Family history research," I said, hoping our cover story would pacify her. Eric and I had decided to borrow Hadley's lie. We figured it was the easiest way to ask questions about people long dead without arising suspicion.

Mark wasn't the only Stonebrook who'd worked at Poindexter Palace. If Marnie's photograph was to be believed, her mother had been on staff here decades earlier.

What it all meant, I didn't know.

But it sure as hell wasn't a coincidence.

Shelly eyed us. She was moving from unnerved to suspicious. She thought Eric and I sure didn't look like fancy for-hire researchers, and between Eric's bruised face and our rumpled clothes, I had to agree.

Shelly opened her mouth to call us out, but I beat her to the punch. "We ran into some trouble on the way. Car crash." It was a poor lie, but the best I could come up with on the spot. Eric's face was black and blue. There was no other explanation but the truth, and admitting he'd been in a fistfight wouldn't exactly work in our favor.

"You should see the rest of me," Eric said, surprising me—and Shelly, for that matter.

He smiled.

She blushed. Cleared her throat. "How're you holding up?"

He shrugged. "I'll live."

He gave her another smile.

It was like the wind had shifted. Where there'd been suspicion, there was now goodwill.

God bless Eric, and his square chin. Even beaten, even exhausted, he could turn on the charm.

I figured that was as good of a lead-in as we would get, so I put the photograph of Marnie's mother on the countertop. "We could use your help."

She recognized the setting immediately. "My word," Shelly said, as she picked up the photo. "That's here."

We were, without a doubt, in the right place. I could see the grand staircase from the photograph, just beyond the entrance hall.

"Our client's mother's in the third row," Eric said, leaning a little too close to Shelly. She didn't seem to mind.

"Mark's mother," I piggybacked.

"We're looking for someone who can tell us about her. Would that be you?" Eric made it sound like he was hoping so.

Shelly eyed Eric with growing interest. I hadn't been the only one to hear the invitation in his voice.

When Eric smiled at Shelly, his whole face relaxed.

After a second, she smiled back.

When Eric wants something, he's hard to resist. Believe me, I know. I've succeeded in putting him off, but I've also failed. Miserably.

Right now—as I watched Eric make eyes at Shelly—the failures kept popping into my head. Jackson, for instance. He'd given me that look, and where had it gotten us? Thank god Bubba had interrupted when he did. How terrible would these past few days have been, if we'd finished what we'd started?

Unlike me, Shelly could enjoy the moment. She could think Eric was a nice human guy. The type who smiled freely. She thought he'd look even better when his bruises healed.

She had no idea.

"I'd like to help y'all," Shelly said, and even though she included us both, she definitely wasn't talking to me. "But you be better off speaking with my granddad."

Eric made a show at being disappointed. But when Shelly led us into the back offices, I could tell from his thoughts he was as relieved as I was.

We'd gotten in the door.

Unfortunately, it was only the first hurdle.

* * *

"Yes, I knew her." Rick Poindexter—Shelly's grandad—studied the photograph of Marnie's mother like he'd never seen anything so remarkable. "Octavia too. They were inseparable."

Unlike Shelly, Rick was a werewolf. I'd known as soon as I stepped in the door. His thoughts were snarly and, although he was pushing 80, his handshake was firmer than average.

Eric had taken Rick's hand too—he couldn't avoid the ritual—but he hadn't given me any sign that he'd picked up on Rick's otherness. Not that I'd expected Eric to cry wolf (so to speak), but I wondered if he'd known Rick for what he was. Now that Eric was human, could he spot supes? He hadn't thought about wolves or weres, so I was guessing that the answer was no.

Eric was going to be thrilled when I told him.

And I'd have to tell him.

Rick hadn't taken his eyes from the photograph of Marnie's mother since I'd put it in his hands. Eric and I had done our 'car crash family history' song and dance, then I'd told Rick that Marnie had given us the photo, and mentioned Octavia as Marnie's mother's friend.

"Alice was a waitress, and a sweetheart." Rick got a smile, unconscious, like he couldn't help himself. I figured Alice was Marnie's mother's name. "Or, at least, that's what we thought."

There was obviously a story there. "What happened?"

"Mark didn't tell you?"

"We're having trouble getting in touch," Eric said. I could hear his impatience.

"Really? I thought you work for the sister." Rick was fishing. Like Shelly, Marnie's existence had been news to him. He thought it was curious that Mark had worked for him for nearly a year and never once mentioned a sibling.

I agreed. Actually, I thought it was more than curious. I thought it was significant. I just couldn't put my finger on why.

"They don't talk much." It was an embellishment based on what I'd pulled from the Poindexters' minds. "But I think she hopes to reconnect. Use the family history stuff as an excuse to reach out," I shrugged, like I was guessing. Like it was none of my business, really.

"Hm," Rick said, but he seemed to warm to that. He set down the photograph, and began rummaging through his desk. Pulled out a rolodex. "Family's family," he said, and passed me a card.

Mark Stonebrook's phone number, address, and email were handwritten on it in blue ink.

"I don't know if this is current," Rick hadn't seen Mark since he'd left work. Not even at a pack meeting. "You run into him, ask him to give me a call, would you?"

"Sure."

I was lucky. Rick's mind was easier to read than many shifters. Mark had quit about six months ago. He hadn't even given notice, just stopped showing up to work.

That set off alarm bells, but before I could think of a delicate way to ask about Mark's departure, Rick turned back to the old photograph.

"I don't know that Mark's sister is going to like what I have to tell you," he said. "She doesn't know anything?"

"Her mother didn't like to talk about the past," I lied. Eric and I knew squat, and if we wanted to get anywhere we had to pretend our fictional version of Marnie was in the same boat.

It wasn't a perfect lie, but Rick seemed to buy it. "I don't doubt that," he said, before staring at the photograph for a good long while. He was thinking about running with Alice on the full moon.

God, I hated lying. But I didn't know what else to do. If we told Rick the truth, you could bet he'd tell other weres, and that was a problem we just didn't need to have.

"That's me, you know." Rick pointed at a swash of dark hair in the photo's back row. These days, he was bald as a baby. "I was a server. My father made me learn the business from the bottom."

"So you own this place?" Eric's question was pointed, but his face was blank. Innocent. Yeah, right. Eric knew as well as I did that the hotel belonged to Peter Threadgill.

Eric was obviously tired of letting Rick's memory run its course.

"My family owned it." Rick left it at that, but I didn't miss the past tense.

I wondered what had happened to make the Poindexters sell to vampires. It could be as simple as a big payout. But they were weres—not exactly vampires' biggest fans—and I got the sense from Rick's office—cluttered with so many memoirs of the Poindexter plantation that it looked like a museum—that he was a man who took pride in his family and their legacy. Selling wouldn't have been his first choice.

But Rick Poindexter's story wasn't the one I'd come here to uncover.

"Mark's mother—" I began.

"Alice," Rick said.

"Alice—" I amended.

"Was a thief." That surprised me. Rick looked grim. "A con artist. Whatever you want to call it. She defrauded us. Thousands. Tens of thousands, maybe twenty. In those days, that was a lot of money."

It still sounded like a lot of money to me.

"I'm sorry to be the one to let the girl know," Rick said, and it took me a second to realize he was talking about Marnie.

"How'd she do it?" You couldn't get thousands skimming off the till.

Rick opened his mouth, then shut it. He was thinking about cops. "This is just for the sister?"

"Yes," Eric looked surprisingly sincere. He reached into his pocket, and came out with a photograph. As he handed it to Rick, I took a glance.

Mark and Marnie as children. You could see the family resemblance. Their hairstyles were decades out of date, and they looked young. Happy.

Eric must have stolen it from Marnie's wallet.

"This is the sister?" Rick said.

"She told us it was taken around the last time she saw Mark," Eric said, and I felt my insides twist. "She wants to find him. And she wants the truth."

Considering that Marnie was dead and we were the ones that had done it, I felt just about as low as a human being can. I had to stare at the floor, because I wasn't sure what I'd do if I looked at Eric.

I wanted to tell Rick to forget it—forget the photo, forget we'd even come—but I kept my mouth shut. I couldn't speak, not if we wanted to find out why this photograph had been so important to Marnie. What her mother had been doing at a hotel now owned by Peter Threadgill. With a friend of Hadley's neighbor. There were too many coincidences. I could feel an answer, almost see it, but it wouldn't snap into focus. Every instinct I had was telling me that there was important information here—with Rick—and we had to uncover it if we wanted to break the curse.

And boy, did I ever want to break that curse. Not just for Eric and Pam.

I wanted this nightmare to be over.

I wanted my life to go back to normal.

I was complicit in Eric's lie. I stared at the smiling Stonebrook siblings, and tried to remind myself that they'd attacked us first.

I felt like crap.

Rick studied the photo. From the expression on his face, I knew he had cared about Mark.

"I want your word that what I tell you only goes to the Stonebrook family," he said, finally.

Eric didn't hesitate. "You have it."

Rick turned to me.

"Yes." I had to force the words. I felt like I had liar stamped across my forehead, but I must have seemed convincing, because Rick cleared his throat.

"Gambling's never been legal on this side of the river, but occasionally folks played a few round of cards in the back," he said.

A dip into Rick's thoughts filled in the holes. Occasionally was every night, and a few round of cards meant a full-out, off-the-books gambling ring. Alice Stonebrook had been a dealer.

"Alice's man worked in town," Rick said. "But he was here a lot, and he played often." It was clear from Rick's tone that he had no lost love for Mr. Stonebrook.

"They fixed the game?" Eric read between the lines. He was one step ahead of me. He'd spent more time around gambling, I guess. Or criminals. Both, now that I thought about it.

Rick shrugged. "Stonebrook won often. Too often." Alice had been a witch, as well as a were. He suspected she'd used her magic to help her husband win.

"What did you do with him?" Trust Eric to think about the punishment.

"What could we do?" Rick didn't spell it out, but he didn't have to. You can't call the law when you're running an underground gambling racket. "My father and some friends ran them out of town." The friends were the pack. "I didn't think about the Stonebrooks until Mark applied for a job."

"You hired him, given what you knew about the family?" Eric was fishing for information, but he wasn't going after it in the most elegant way. Or maybe he'd been trying to touch a nerve. If that had been his intention, he succeeded. Rick's eyes flashed.

"Mark worked his whole life to overcome his folks' mistakes," Rick said. Mark had told Rick he'd been born in prison. I didn't know if that had any truth, but Rick had believed him. He didn't share that part of the story with us.

And Mark had been pack. Rick also left that part out too.

"He never gave me a reason to doubt him." Until he'd disappeared. I heard that thought as clear as if Rick had spoken it. Mark had never even been late, and then he left without notice.

A shiver went down my spine.

"You okay, honey?" Rick asked.

"Fine." What was one more lie?

"What about Octavia?" Eric asked. I was half surprised he remembered her name.

"What about her?"

"She involved in this?"

"Not that I know," Rick said. "But she left soon after Alice. Went down to Louisiana. I haven't heard from her in forty years."

* * *

We pulled up at the address written on Rick's rolodex a little after 3 pm. Mark lived in a nondescript apartment complex, just off the interstate. There were a handful of inexpensive cars in the lot.

Eric parked.

"This is a bad idea." There was no reason to beat around the bush.

"Yes," Eric said. "You have a better one?" He had been in a snippy mood ever since I'd told him that Rick was a were. He was mad that he hadn't been able to tell. Not that he actually shared this to me. His thoughts, as always, were more open than I'd prefer.

Eric wanted to search Mark's apartment. I understood why—other than Octavia, it was about the only lead we had—but we had to approach carefully. What if Mark's apartment was booby-trapped? Or some witch lived nearby?

When I mentioned these reasons to Eric, he'd told me they were all good points, but it didn't stop him from driving to Mark's at twenty miles over the speed limit.

"Let's talk it through."

"We are talking, too much." Eric didn't even try to hide his impatience. "There's no time. I want to be in Louisiana before nightfall."

Then, he was outside the car, and the drivers' door had slammed in my face.

Eric was halfway across the lot before I struggled free of my seatbelt. I had to jog to catch up with him. When I finally chased him down, he was at the apartment entrance.

" Be smart." I kept imagining walking into Mark's apartment and getting caught in some spell.

Eric didn't say a word. He just pointed at Apartment 3A.

_L + M STONEBROOK_ , read the slip in the slot for the tenant's names.

"Who's L?"

"One way to find out." Eric hit the buzzer.

I could have killed him.

Nothing.

Thank god.

Eric hit the buzzer again.

"Hello?" A woman's voice.

Fear gripped me. I flashed to Marnie flying through the air. Landing in front of my Malibu.

"Stonebrook?" Eric asked.

There was a silence. Then, "Speaking."

What was Eric's plan? Would a Stonebrook fall for this whole family history nonsense? I wouldn't bet on it. I opened my mouth, trying to think of some lie, but Eric beat me to it.

"Fed Ex," he said.

I stared at him. Angry as I was, I had to admire the simplicity.

Eric raised an eyebrow, as if to daring me to say something.

"Leave it on the stoop," the woman said.

"I need a signature."

Silence.

The door buzzed. Eric opened it.

"Coming?" he asked.

Without waiting for my reply, he stepped inside Mark Stonebrook's apartment building.


	24. Country Time

It was the longest elevator ride of my life.

It got a little longer when Eric bent to tie his shoe, and stood up holding a switchblade. He'd been carrying it—concealed—this whole time. He offered it to me, handle first. "Just in case."

I felt very tired. But I took the knife. Safety first, and all that.

"Aim here," Eric tapped a spot under his ribs. "Or an armpit." I must have looked overwhelmed, because he downgraded to, "Or anywhere soft."

I offered it back to him.

"Keep it," he said. "You need it more than I do."

That was true, but "You actually know how to use it."

"I'll feel better," he said, and worry broke through his bravado. I dropped the switchblade in my pocket. "Smile, Sookie. Now you can stab me in my sleep."

"I smile on my schedule."

That got a smile out of him.

* * *

A blonde woman answered Mark Stonebrook's door—burp cloth on her shoulder, baby in her arms. A nametag from work still hung on her blouse. She was too thin, with circles under her eyes.

The knife felt heavy in my pocket.

I thought back to the sign on the mailbox below. L + M Stonebrook. This was likely L.

L's baby didn't look older than six months. His eyes skated over me and focused on Eric. He reached out a chubby hand. She swatted it back. Eric, for his part, acted like the baby didn't exist.

She took one look at Eric—bruises, Cowboys T-shirt—and said, "You're not Fed Ex."

"No," he said. "We're looking for Mark Stonebrook."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What for?" Her thoughts were clear—unlike Mark, she was plain old human.

I flipped through our lineup of lies. One look at her—burned out, just off the clock—told me she wouldn't give a shit about genealogy. "We're friends of Rick Poindexter." Rick was Mark's employer and a member of his pack. "He's worried about Mark. Asked us to track him down."

"Took him long enough," she said, but she didn't open the door. Her eyes lingered on Eric. Rick's friend or no, she didn't want to let him into her house. His bruises said bad news.

"Leif was in a car accident," I said, and she turned to me in surprise. "Don't be embarrassed. Everyone's been staring."

She flushed. "I am so sorry. I've been on edge since Mark left—"

Eric waved off her apology. "These days, I look in the mirror and scare myself."

There was more truth in that than she knew.

* * *

Mark's wife—who introduced herself as Leila—was eager to make up for the imagined slight. Before I knew it, we were sitting around her table like old pals, nursing the Country Time she insisted on serving. Her guilt made me guilty, because she'd been right to mistrust us. I had the switchblade to prove it.

Eric took a sip of his lemonade and coughed. I realized he'd never tasted lemonade before. Maybe not even lemons. I pushed the sugar towards him.

"I haven't seen Mark for months," Leila was saying. "All I know is he's with his sister." In her thoughts, she called Marnie a word that sounded a lot like witch.

"Do you know where they went?" I asked.

"He didn't say," she said. "But I'm going to kill him when he gets back."

Leila didn't know Mark was dead. I hated keeping the news from her, but I couldn't think of a way to let her know without implicating us. I was surprised it had taken the cops so long to find her. I expected she'd get a notification soon.

"What happened?" I asked.

One question was all it took. Maybe Leila had been waiting to tell the story since Mark left. Maybe we were the only people who'd bothered to ask.

"Mark and Marnie hadn't spoken for years. He never talked about her, so I figured whatever happened had been horrible. She sent birthday cards, else I wouldn't have known she existed."

Eric and I exchanged a glance. It was the same story we'd heard from Rick.

"One day, she just shows up. Like you, without calling." I ignored the dig. "I answer the door, and I know it's her. She looks just like Mark. I've never seen a woman that tall."

That was Marnie. When she'd chased me through the mall, she'd towered above other patrons.

"Mark's at work so she waits. I try to make conversation. She acts like I don't exist." Leila was still bitter about it. I didn't blame her. "Mark gets home, she takes him out. When he comes back, he tells me he has to leave for a while. Marnie needs his help. I ask with what, he won't say." She figured that Marnie had pressured Mark into something dangerous, maybe even illegal.

"If they weren't close, why would he help her?" Trust Eric to come at Mark's decision from a selfish angle.

"I asked the same thing," Leila said, "and he told me they were blood. Not family—blood. I thought it was a weird way to put things, so it stuck in my head."

Maybe 'blood' was a supe thing. Mark and Marnie were both siblings and pack—that was a double bond—maybe a double bind for Mark.

Leila didn't mention the hours of fighting before Mark left. She still couldn't understand why he chose a sister he barely knew over a child she knew he loved. Her baby was just beginning to grow hair - dark, like Mark's. She rocked him on her shoulder. "Mark said he'd be a few weeks." Her voice wavered. She hadn't heard from him since that night. He'd left before dawn, their fight unresolved.

Eric shifted the line of questioning. "What do you know about their parents?"

Leila seemed surprised. "Why?"

Eric couldn't give the real answer—that Marnie's mother might have a connection to the Vampire King of Arkansas. "Just wondering where Mark might hole up." The lie was effortless.

Read her mind. The words popped into my head, unprompted. Read her mind. I looked at Eric, but his eyes were on Leila. It was hard enough keeping him out of my head without him forcing thoughts at me. I squeezed his knee, under the table. Message received. Eric kept his attention on Leila, but I could feel him withdraw past my shields.

My skin prickled where I'd touched him. I pulled my fingers back.

"His folks are dead." Leila was saying, as if that were the end of the story.

It wasn't.

Mark's parents had been murdered. The police never caught the perpetrator. Leila didn't feel right telling strangers. I couldn't blame her.

"When did they pass?" I asked, in the spirit of dotting the I's.

Leila shrugged. "Seventies, maybe? Mark was a kid. Marnie's older. She went off on her own. Mark was raised by an aunt in Memphis."

"You got the aunt's address?"

"Riverview Cemetery," Leila said. "She's been dead ten years."

So that was it. We'd struck out.

We couldn't afford many more dead ends. Eric's a pro at hiding his emotions, but even Lelia could read his disappointment. Exhaustion had worn down his defenses.

Eric stood up. Time to go. "Thank you for your time. And the juice." If Lelia thought that was a strange way to talk about Country Time, she didn't say.

She walked us to the door. I was surprised at Eric's grasp of basic human pleasantries. He thanked Leila again, and even extended his hand for her to shake. He could be charming when he tried.

I heard her question right before she forced herself to ask. "If you find Mark…"

"I'll pass on his number." The lie stuck in my throat. The police would track down Leila soon, and she'd learn the truth. Uncertainty was worse than knowing, however much the news hurt.

My interactions with Mark had been less than positive, but I could tell that Leila loved him. He had a good job. A family. He had every reason to ignore his sister and stay in West Memphis. What could have been so important that Marnie was able to drag him away? Why had he left his own child?

"Is she trustworthy?" Eric asked as we waited for the elevator.

"What did you think?"

"Yes," he said. "But I did not hear her thoughts."

"I believe her." I still didn't know what her story meant.

Eric took a card out his pocket. Passed it to me.

Marnie's driver's license. Home address in West Memphis. "Last stop."

He didn't say last chance. But he was thinking it.

* * *

Eric needed a pick-me-up, so I tossed him the car keys. There are few things I like more than the sun in my face, so I rolled down the windows. Eric slung his arm out the driver's side. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that he'd started to enjoy the sun.

He was too deep in thought to notice me watching him. He looked different. His stubble had come in. His nose was sunburned. He was dressed like my brother in a T-shirt and flannel. He wore it well, but then again, Eric wore everything well.

Maybe we'd never break the curse. Maybe we'd run out of leads, and Eric would grow a beard, drink lemonade and get a tan.

But he'd never get old. It was a matter of time before the secret got out. And when it did, Eric was as good as dead. If humans didn't kill him, vampires would. Better to bury the evidence than risk the curse becoming public.

I had no illusions about my own safety. I knew too much. If we didn't break the curse, I was as much a goner as Eric.

He caught me staring at him. "What?"

"Just imagining our deaths."

He laughed. What else could he do? But like our future selves, his laughter died quick. It all felt a little too real.

We sat in that somber moment. "We need to find a witch," he said.

"What about this Octavia?" Hadley's landlady hadn't outright said Octavia was a witch, but there'd been something in her tone that suggested she might be more than human. We knew Marnie's mother had power. Maybe her oldest friend did too.

"Is she trustworthy?" Eric asked the key question. For all we knew, Octavia could have conspired with Marnie.

"I know as much as you do." I also knew that we were out of good options. I scrolled to my call history, and highlighted Hadley's landlady's number. My thumb hovered.

"There is not much to lose," Eric said, and I had to agree. If Octavia were Marnie's conspirator, she already knew we were onto her. I'd dropped 'cursed' into my talk with Amelia, for goodness sake.

I pressed 'send' before I could talk myself out of it. If Marnie's home didn't pan out, Octavia was the last thing standing between us and those imagined deaths.

I also had an ulterior motive.

A motive that would displease Eric.

The phone rang. Eric pulled into the shoulder. Cars whipped past us at highway speed. My tiny Malibu rattled. The moment felt ominous.

The landlady's phone rang itself out and clicked to voicemail. "This is Amelia. You know what to do." She sounded delighted with herself. Her chipper tone annoyed me. The longer I spent with a 1000-year-old grouch, the more he rubbed off on me.

What I was about to do would make him even grouchier.

"Amelia, this is Sookie. Hadley might have mentioned Octavia to her friends in New Orleans."

Eric looked at me, sharp.

I continued, false cheery. "You know how they can be, and I just wanted to give her a heads up. Anyway, I'm on vacation now, this is a great time of year for it." I couldn't imagine how I could be more explicit, short of saying get the hell out of town. "Please have Octavia call me."

I snapped the phone shut. Eric looked like he wanted to snap my neck. "If the Queen hears that message—"

"If we help Octavia, she's more likely to help us," I said, framing what I'd done in the only way he'd understand it.

If Octavia knew about the curse, her best move was to stay away from us. Eric was smart enough to know that we had to overcome Octavia's sense of self-preservation. If a stranger alerted me to trouble, I'd feel obligated to help them out. I hoped Octavia was the same.

It was best to stick to practical arguments with Eric, so I didn't tell him that I felt responsible for Octavia. I'd spelled out her importance to Hadley and, by extension, the Queen. The least I could do was warn her.

"Besides, how many telepaths does the Queen have? I'll be all right," I said, with confidence I didn't feel.

"You shouldn't be reckless." But Eric seemed more worried than angry.

* * *

Silence fell as mile markers flew past. Eric's thoughts buzzed against mine. He was running over our conversation with Mark's wife. I strengthened my shields. I'd let him clue me in when he reached a conclusion. I had my own thinking to do.

I'd barely tuned him out when he said, "Blood."

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the Stonebrooks and not his favorite things.

"The woman said they were blood."

"So?"

"So they hadn't talked for years, but the witch went to her brother. Why?"

I could guess the answer he wanted. "Because they were blood?" Eric smiled. Gold star for Sookie. His 'breakthrough' seemed self-evident to me. "Of course people ask family for help."

As soon as I said it, I reconsidered. There were tons of people I'd turn to before Jason. Sam, for one. Until recently, Bill. Maybe even Eric. But if it were a family problem I'd feel wrong not telling my brother.

"The witch had a problem she couldn't take anywhere else. Something you can only trust to blood," Eric said. He was thinking about Pam.

In other words, the curse was personal for Marnie.

That wasn't something we'd considered.

We still didn't know why Marnie cast the curse, but we'd batted around two theories. Theory one was the Queen's favorite—she thought her fiancé Peter Threadgill, the Vampire King of Arkansas, was behind the attack. She believed he'd hired Marnie to curse her, creating political instability that would allow him to take over Louisiana.

Eric and I were of a different mind. Why would Threadgill use a curse that could defang him? We thought a third party—likely a non-vampire—was trying to frame Threadgill and start a war between Louisiana and Arkansas. Why, I didn't know. Arkansas's vampires would wipe out my ex-vamps, but if the curse became public every vampire was vulnerable.

I tried to square our old theory with Eric's hunch. "If someone hired Marnie to start a war between Arkansas and Louisiana—"

"That is not a problem for blood," he said. Because why would Marnie be personally invested in a vampire war?

"She'd need trustworthy people helping her—"

"Would you consider a brother you hadn't spoken to in years trustworthy?"

"Maybe."

"Yes," he said. "Maybe. But if she's casting spells for Peter Threadgill, she knows people who can be trusted more than 'maybe.' Talented individuals make themselves available for a price. These people generally do not work at rundown hotels in West Memphis."

'Rundown' rubbed me the wrong way. I'd thought Poindexter Palace seemed nice. "I work for vampires," I said. "And I waitress."

"Do you ask your brother for help when I hire you?"

I did everything to keep Jason away from vamps. Eric's problems weren't our family's problems… and this was precisely his point. It'd be one thing if Marnie and Mark were a team, routinely working for vampires. But Leila said they hadn't spoken in years.

"Marnie came to Mark because she had a job for him," Eric said. "A job only he could do. This was personal."

I considered his argument. What would make the curse personal?

Then it hit me. It was so obvious, I couldn't believe it had taken me this long.

"Their parents were murdered," I said. "I heard it in Leila's thoughts. The killer was never found."

"Sad," said Eric, but he sounded more excited than regretful. His instincts pointed in the same direction as mine.

"What if Marnie found her parents' killer?" My thoughts were moving so fast, I could barely keep up. "And it was a vampire?"

Eric stepped on the gas.

* * *

A dozen times on the road to Marnie's, I was sure we'd taken a wrong turn. The road turned from asphalt to gravel to dirt. Fields overgrew, and weeds lengthened to woods. But when we passed a no trespassing sign, I knew we were on the right track. I may not have known Marnie Stonebrook, but I could tell she was the type of woman who didn't take kindly to visitors.

Marnie lived in a beat-up trailer on the edge of a forest. It looked like a backwoods spin on a wicked witch's cabin. Her mailbox overflowed with Pennysavers, but there was a pickup parked on the lawn. Eric slowed as we passed.

I took Pam's gun out of my purse. Checked the chamber. Shit. "We're out of bullets."

We had never fired the gun. Maybe it had never been loaded in the first place.

One look at Eric told me that he'd known.

No wonder he'd wanted me to have his knife.

"You and I know it's empty," he said. "No one else needs to."

The gun felt heavy in my hand as we approached the trailer. I wished it were heavier.

The yard was overgrown except for a tiny garden—browning flowers clung to life in neat rows. They reminded me of the yellow wildflowers that grew near Gran's grave, but they were so withered it was hard to know for sure. Marnie didn't seem like a Better Homes & Gardens type. I could only imagine what or, possibly, who lay underneath the plot.

But what did I know? Maybe Eric had made me too much of a cynic. Maybe Marnie just wanted to beautify her home.

Sookie. Eric thought at me, rather than speaking. He nodded at the stairs leading to Marnie's trailer. A small set of footprints broke the dust coating.

Movement in the window. Blinds rustled into place. We were being watched.

Eric knocked on the door.

I cast my thoughts wide to find a panicked mind. A woman. Unfastening a window. "She's going out the back."

"Block the door." Eric disappeared around the trailer.

Seconds stretched. No sound but cicadas. Then, a scream.

I rounded the trailer to find Eric restraining a teenager half his size. As he wrestled her arms behind her back, I caught sight of her face. I'd never seen her in person, but I knew her instantly. I'd seen her in Pam's thoughts. And Eric's.

She was the witch Chow killed on New Year's Eve.

The witch whose death triggered the curse.

The witch whose body Clancy dumped in a Bon Temps swamp.

And now—she was very much alive.

Talk about living dead.


	25. Best Served

Eric held a struggling, screaming, breathing dead woman in his arms.

She was the mirror image of the witch I'd seen in Pam's thoughts. She had the same dark hair. Same brown eyes. Same freaking mole on her left cheek.

I'd seen Chow snap this woman's neck. Clancy buried her body. But here she was, chest rising and falling. As alive as me.

As Eric.

The witch's terror raced over me. She knew who Eric was—she'd seen him at Fangtasia. She knew he was here to kill her. Just like he'd killed her sister.

There it was. The answer.

"She's a twin," I told Eric. Chow killed the witch's sister on New Year's Eve. She believed Eric had done it.

The witch's eyes snapped to me. "You're not dead."

Not yet, at least.

"If you're not dead, why are you helping him?"

Eric clapped his hand over the witch's mouth. She bit his fingers, but he didn't seem to care.

If you're not dead, why are you helping him?

I'd stopped asking myself that question. Otherwise, I would have gone crazy. But as I watched Eric hoist the witch over his shoulder, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made the right choice.

* * *

Eric dumped the witch in a kitchen chair. He leaned against Marnie's counter, placing himself in between the witch and a knife block. It was almost casual, like he'd just happened to stop there.

I knew better.

When Eric arrived at my house on New Year's, his first thought had been killing me. Mine had been to reach for my knife drawer.

Eric met my eyes across the kitchen. He remembered that moment too. I saw myself in his head, scrabbling for knives. He was thinking about how frightened I'd seemed.

His regret disoriented me. An Eric who didn't give a shit about me was an Eric I could predict.

I looked at the witch to avoid his eyes.

We had the upper hand, but I hardly felt safe. Marnie could fly for goodness sake—who knew what this woman was capable of? The only advantage we'd have was advance warning. I dipped into her thoughts.

She'd been watching the Rose Bowl parade when Marnie had called to tell her that her sister was dead. She could still hear Marnie— _"The vampire got her."_ The witch was sure 'the vampire' meant Eric. She imagined him snapping her sister's neck. Or had he bitten her? He'd had fangs then.

Chow killed the sister, I reminded myself.

But I'd be a fool to think Eric innocent.

"We're not here to hurt you." I hoped I was telling the truth. If the witch tried a spell, I wasn't sure what we could do about it—knock her out, maybe. I hated the thought, but it was better than ending up dead.

"Who hired you?" Eric asked. There was no need to specify what for. It was mid-afternoon and he stood in a puddle of sunlight. If the witch didn't know Marnie's curse had worked before, she did now.

"Peter Threadgill," she said.

Now, I'm not a polygraph. My extra sense doesn't bing whenever I hear a lie. Which is a good thing, because I'd hear so many bings it would be hard to concentrate on anything else. It's still hard to get a lie past me. There are any number of tells—liars often think about the truth; or they're pleased at thinking of a clever story; or they're anxious about being found out.

The witch was a vortex of anxiety. She'd never met Peter Threadgill, but she wanted us to believe she had. Marnie had been able to keep me out of her mind. This woman did not have the same talent.

It seemed she didn't have any talent. He thoughts turned into a flood of self-loathing—if she'd had magical ability, she wouldn't have been left behind. She knew it had been a bad idea waiting here, but she was desperate to see Marnie. The Stonebrooks should have made it back by now. With her sister gone, they were the closest thing she had to family.

I felt suddenly and overwhelmingly sorry for her. "It's all right," I said. "We won't hurt you."

The woman gave me a look of such loathing, my mind went blank.

She thought I was full of shit.

I was used to hearing insults, but that didn't make it any easier.

I took a breath. I had to get hold of myself. I wasn't this woman's friend. I wasn't here to help her. Why did I care what she thought of me? If she didn't tell me what she knew, I'd likely be dead.

The thought that popped into my head was – what would Eric do? It wasn't a saying I ever thought I'd use, but right then, I needed to care a little less.

Eric would do what he had to, without stalling. I took the woman's arm. She flinched, but her thoughts streamed into mine, clearer than before.

She was thinking about her last conversation with Marnie. She'd sat across from her in this very trailer. _If they find you, Irma, tell them it's Threadgill._

The woman—Irma—repeated Marnie's charge to herself now. _Tell them it's Threadgill._

So Marnie had wanted to start a war – Louisiana against Arkansas, vampire against vampire. But why?

Truth was the best tool I had. "Why does Marnie want us to believe Threadgill hired you?"

Irma stared at me, wide eyed. She wondered if I were a witch.

"Answer her." Eric's tone was light, and more threatening for it.

Irma braced herself. She expected Eric to kill her. She thought it was a terrible joke, a mark of how cruel the world was, that she was about to die at the hands of a vampire, like her sister and their folks before her.

There it was. "Vampires killed your parents."

Her eyes widened. "Threadgill hired us—"

Irma could deny all she wanted, but I tuned out her voice and focused on her thoughts.

* * *

Revenge.

The motive was that simple.

Marnie enlisted allies who'd lost family to vampires. She worked odd jobs for Threadgill to learn her enemy. She cast the curse to sow chaos, and figured vampires were so paranoid they'd destroy each other once blood was in the water. She saw justice in vampires killing each other.

Marnie didn't care how it happened. The curse was a success if Arkansas's vampires destroyed Louisiana's. It was a success if word got out, and the world learned the vamps' vulnerability. It was a success if she got inside the vampires' heads, and scared them like they'd scared her.

At least, that's what she told Irma.

Irma never said any of this aloud. She stayed loyal to Marnie. But she couldn't keep me out.

Eric went quiet when I told him. "Does she know how to end it?" he asked.

Irma thought about an empty box of Valentine's chocolates. She looked at me – by now, she knew I was reading her thoughts – and I realized chocolate had been dessert the night her conspirators cast the curse. Marnie let Irma hang around because of her sister, but she was an outsider. The housekeeper. She couldn't work magic, so she'd done dishes while the others did the deed. Irma's thoughts angled to self-pity again.

She had no idea how to break the curse.

I told Eric the bad news. He nodded, and walked out of the trailer. I didn't grudge him the minute.

"Let me go," Irma said, once we were alone. "You know I'm nothing."

I shook my head no. "I'm sorry."

The apology felt thick in my throat.

* * *

Eric and I sat in the kitchenette while Irma sobbed on Marnie's bed, a double-wide away. He had bound her hands with duct tape. I wasn't happy about the restraints, but I didn't want to court trouble. Not that Irma seemed like much of a threat. Fear had hyped her past sense. She'd repeated Threadgill's name so often the sounds lost meaning.

Before we made any decisions about her, we had to figure out what to do next. Her sobs ground at Eric. He turned to the window. The sun was setting. I'd barely slept over the last two days, but he'd gotten even less rest than me.

Even bone-tired, he looked good. Better than good. I'd gotten used to him so I didn't always see it, but then I'd have moments like this where I'd discover him again.

He caught me watching him. "Soda?" I stood, hiding in activity. Marnie had a case of Mr. Pibb on her counter and, sure enough, there were frosty cans in the fridge. I slid one to Eric. He picked it up, inspecting the label. I could see a protest forming. "It'll keep you awake."

The appeal to his practical side worked, as usual. Eric snapped open the soda. He swallowed and said, "Sweet," like it was an indictment.

"It'll grow on you." I sat beside him, cracking my own Mr. Pibb.

"Hm." I realized he'd chosen silence over conflict. That was new. And welcome.

Eric took another swig of soda. Grimaced. "The curse seemed targeted to me, my area."

I could think of the obvious reason. I was sure it had crossed his mind too. "Did you kill Marnie's parents?"

He met my eyes. "I don't remember."

What would you know—there was an answer worse than 'yes.'

Eric must have seen the look on my face, because he amended, "But I don't think so." He forced a smile. "I'm not in the habit of murdering customers." It was more deflection than joke. Needless to say, it fell flat.

"Even ones out to rob you?" Marnie's parents had been thieves.

Last week, I wouldn't have been so bold. And last week, Eric would have gotten angry. Tonight, he was too tired to posture. "If the thief killed one of my vampires, maybe." He looked straight at me, as if daring me to be outraged. I saw a flicker of the old Eric. "But I would have turned a were over to the pack."

Marnie's parents' pack had run them out of Arkansas. "And if the weres ran alone?"

"For stealing? Glamour. Or banishment." He read my skepticism, and felt the need to justify himself. "Bodies make bodies."

It rang like an aphorism. As far as words to live by, it was more practical than moral. I imagined it as a helpful hint in The Dummies Guide to Being a Vampire, and had to stop myself from breaking into nervous laughter.

"You asked for honesty." If I didn't know any better I'd think he was hurt.

"I don't have to like what I hear."

Eric didn't have energy to front. "No, you don't." He sounded almost resigned.

I met his eyes. His thoughts pulled me in. He was hurt—he wanted me to understand him. He wanted me to know he had some kind of code.

I was surprised he cared what I thought of him.

I wondered what had changed.

I hadn't really looked at him for days—at least not while he was looking back. There'd been too much shit between us. I held his eyes now. He knew I was trying to figure him out, but he couldn't find words to help.

He looked away first, and threw his attention at the first thing he found, which happened to be his soda. He took a swig. It hadn't grown on him. "You don't have to drink it," I said, because silence felt intimate all of a sudden.

"I won't lie to you," he said, surprising me—and himself. He seemed embarrassed, which told me he meant what he said.

"Thanks." I didn't know what else to say. He nodded, as if it were nothing. As if he wanted to get out of this moment as quickly as he'd blundered into it.

I did too. I was afraid to keep blundering. Marnie's kitchen table was small, and there was a charge between us that hadn't been there before.

I cast for a safe topic. Eric beat me to it.

"My predecessor in Area 5 ran card games, bookmakers." It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the vampire who'd been Sheriff before him. "This was before the Revelation. The clientele were mostly supes. If Stonebrook's parents tried to steal from him…"

I could fill in the blank. The old Sheriff would have killed Marnie's parents.

"What about bodies making bodies?"

Eric shrugged—defeat, rather than dismissal. "You know how we are."

Yes, I did. "Where is he now?" I asked. "Your predecessor?"

"His maker recalled him when she became Queen."

Andre.

"His enforcer was a vampire named Waldo."

The Queen had told us Waldo was the first vampire to fall victim to the curse. She'd found his corpse last week.

"Well, isn't that a neat bow?" I said.

We finished our sodas—Eric without further complaint. I took the opportunity to check on Irma. She'd cried herself out, and had lapsed into what appeared to be a desperate nap.

"Don't kill her," I said to Eric, when I returned to the kitchenette. I figured he would have done it already, but I thought it best to make sure.

"This woman means a lot to you?"

I didn't know her from Adam. But, "She doesn't deserve to die."

Eric looked at me, like he was trying to fit the pieces together. "There's one other option," he said finally. "You're not going to like it."

Whatever it was, it had to be better than killing Irma and dumping her body. Vampires had done her enough violence. "Okay," I said.

* * *

That's how we ended up at a shopping mall, waiting for Bill Compton.


	26. Lesser Evil

I drove to meet Bill. Eric took shotgun. Irma – against my protests – rode in the trunk. I'd wanted to put her in the back seat, but Eric made an effective argument—"If we get pulled over, you can explain her restraints."

I couldn't imagine that conversation going well, and Irma wouldn't come with us by choice. The only way we could free her was glamour, and the only ally who'd glamour her was Bill.

He agreed to meet us halfway between Little Rock, where he'd been taking the temperature of Threadgill's court, and West Memphis, where we'd been investigating Marnie. Eric picked an abandoned shopping mall a few miles off the highway for the meetup. I didn't know how he'd become so familiar with Arkansas's secluded spots, and I didn't care to learn.

We circled the mall before parking in the corner furthest from the road. The shop windows were dark, and light posts dripped with kudzu. It was the kind of place where necking teenagers die in horror movies. We shut off our headlights, but we were still the only car in a lot built for thousands. It gave me the creeps. "We're exposed," I said.

"We won't be here long." But I knew Eric was worried too when he added, "Bill's always punctual."

Before the curse, Eric had always been good company. Now, he was subdued, nearly silent. He stared into the night with a bleak expression I'd never seen on him.

"You okay?" I asked.

It was the sort of question you're supposed to answer 'yes' to. Instead, he said, "Are you?"

Rather than wallow, I offered Eric a crumpled McDonalds bag. I'd stopped for food on our way to the mall. I didn't want to face Bill on an empty stomach. Eric had forced down a burger, but I knew he didn't enjoy it. In the few days he'd had a pulse, he hadn't lost his distaste for human food.

Now, he took a French fry—to please me, I think. I ate one too, mostly to occupy myself. "These were a treat, growing up," I said. Eric didn't care about French fries. Neither did I, but if I kept talking, maybe I'd forget Bill. "When we won a game. Or, you know, birthdays."

"He'll be here and gone, Sookie," Eric said, and I wanted to hit him. "Five minutes, that's all."

"I'm fine." I ate another French fry.

My eyes wandered to the parking lot entrance. A light turned green for no one.

I could feel Eric's eyes on me. "What was your game?" he asked, his voice soft, almost gentle. It was a small gesture, but I was grateful for the distraction.

"Softball." I'd loved it too. "I played shortstop."

He nodded, as if this meant something to him. "Like Jeter."

"Jeter?" Color me impressed. I'd been sure he didn't know a shortstop from a bus stop.

"I run a bar, Sookie," he said, with a smile.

Fangtasia was hardly a sports bar, but he'd given me a peace offering and I felt like I should return the favor. "Maybe next time I work, you could put the game on." Usually, Fangtasia's TVs showed schlocky vampire movies.

"Sure," he said. "Next time you work, you can pick."

Silence fell. It was almost companionable.

I looked back to the mall entrance. A pair of headlights passed under that green light.

I'd recognize Bill's sedan anywhere. When you've had sex in a car, your brain has a way of hanging onto its details. I remembered the dent on the bumper. The way the antenna canted left. The upholstery smelled like mothballs, like Bill was an old man.

Bill's headlights filled the front window. He parked under the streetlight nearest to us.

I turned to Eric, but he was already watching me. "Stay in the car if you want." He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead, he opened the passenger door and got out. Bill emerged from his sedan. Eric started for him, speaking in a low tone I couldn't catch. Probably warning him about me.

I steeled myself. Knowing I was going to see Bill and having him here, in the undead flesh, were two different things. I hadn't imagined I'd have to face him so soon.

I wasn't going to hide.

Before I could think myself out of it, I got out of the car.

Bill looked at me. I felt pinned.

"Hi," he said.

"She's in the back," Eric cut in, as if Bill hadn't spoken. I felt grateful to him—again. I walked to the trunk and popped it.

Irma looked up at me with wide, frightened eyes. Eric had insisted on gagging her, a measure I saw value in, even if it made me feel lower than low. I said a mental 'I'm sorry' to her. This was truly the lesser evil, but it didn't feel that way.

Bill brushed past me. He took Irma by the chin and started murmuring. His voice was low and gentle. It was a cadence I knew well. My body responded, skin prickling like we were back in bed.

I turned, and walked away until I couldn't hear him anymore. I stared at the mall so I wouldn't be tempted to look over at him. In a window, faded ads showed couples ready to take on summer '93. Ruffled swimsuits, big smiles.

I felt Eric behind me. "He's almost done."

"Good." My voice was thick, and I realized with a rush of shame that I was about to cry.

Eric turned back to the cars, as if he didn't notice.

I wiped my eyes and waited for Bill's engine to start.

"Sookie." Bill's voice. I wanted to ignore him, but for some reason I turned. Habit, maybe. Or a self-destructive streak. He'd led Irma to his passenger seat. Her eyes had drifted shut. She'd sleep off the glamour. She'd be all right—that's what was important. "Can we talk?"

"You are talking." I didn't like Eric answering for me, but I didn't trust my own voice yet.

"Alone." Bill's eyes flickered to Eric.

Seeing Bill was hard enough. I couldn't stomach a private apology. "Just go, Bill." I was relieved my voice came out angry, rather than pleading. I turned for my car.

"I can glamour the Queen." Bill's offer stopped me in my tracks. "Andre. Even Eric, if you want."

Eric's face was a mask. Bill was reckless to say this in front of him.

"They won't remember you. It'll be like you never met."

Bill was offering me a way out.

For the first time in days, I felt something approaching hope. I looked at Bill. He smiled at me, as he'd smiled so many times before, and I almost felt like I could forget the curse, forget the truth about him. Fall back in love, like nothing had happened.

Then the moment passed, and I saw clearly.

A man I hated was offering something impossible.

"What about the vampires I met in Dallas?" Let alone Jackson. "What happens when they ask the Queen about her telepath?"

"She'll think you didn't work out," Bill said. "You were slow, ineffective, take your pick. Your cousin exaggerated your ability."

At best, Bill's explanation sounded half-baked; at worst, dangerous. Telepaths weren't so common I'd go unmentioned. My reputation would be hard to shake.

I opened my mouth to tell him so, but he cut me off. "I owe you."

I hated Bill looking at me with any emotion, let alone this pained tenderness.

"I don't want to be square," I said.

I wanted to be angry at Bill for a long time, maybe forever.

Even if his plan worked, I'd be free from every vampire except for him. I'd owe _him_ my freedom. And that I couldn't live with.

Was I a fool to give up this chance? Probably. Would I regret it? Part of me already did. But at least the decision was mine.

Eric was quiet, watching Bill with an expression that almost seemed resigned. I wasn't trying to listen to his thoughts, but they slipped past my shields anyway.

He felt sorry for Bill.

That made one of us.

I walked away from the vampires, and didn't stop until I reached the car.

* * *

We were on the way back to West Memphis when I realized I'd let Bill off easy. The list of things I wish I'd said just kept growing. I was mad at myself for wasting my chance to tell him how much he'd hurt me.

I wasn't the only one who was preoccupied.

"Should I drive?" I asked, when Eric ran a stop sign. His thoughts pressed on my shields, like they wanted to break in.

Eric slowed to the speed limit, a twenty mile-per-hour drop. "No. Get some rest."

Like hell. I was itching for a fight. After Bill, Eric was the next best thing. "Why do you feel sorry for him?"

Eric seemed tired. "It will make you angry."

"Good." I'd rather be mad at Eric than myself.

Eric was thinking about a man with a Roman nose. I was almost angry enough to ask who he was, but I had to trust he'd tell me if it mattered. "It's hard for vampires to say no," he said, finally. His thoughts flicked to the Queen. "It's taken me time to get where I am. I can make my own choices, mostly. Bill doesn't have that luxury."

I wasn't ready to feel sorry for Bill. Whatever Sophie-Anne's hold over him, he chose to hide the truth after I became more than an assignment. "He's not blameless."

"No, he's not," Eric agreed. "But if it weren't him, it would have been someone." He hesitated. "You're her asset."

The word felt cold. Like I were more thing than person. Is that all I'd been to Bill, in the beginning? I felt prickling behind my eyes. I turned to the window, but it was too late. Eric had noticed.

"I don't mean to upset you." He sounded upset himself.

"I'd be upset anyway." Not this upset. "Oh hell, pull over."

He did.

We were at the base of a small hill. I opened the car door, and walked up the slope. Eric didn't follow. I took a steadying breath, and looked at the sky. We were in nowhere, Arkansas, and the stars were as clear as I'd ever seen them. I hurt now, but I wouldn't forever.

I wasn't anyone's asset.

I took a minute, wiped my eyes, then started back to Eric.

He leaned against the car, facing away from me. He rolled something along his fingers—absent, almost as if he weren't aware of it. It glinted, like a coin.

I touched his shoulder. "Let's go."

I startled him, and he caught what he'd been fiddling with.

It was our bullet.

He'd taken that bullet for me in Dallas—saving my life—then used it to trick me into drinking his blood.

He must have found it in my nightstand.

I didn't love Eric knowing that I kept his bullet by my bed.

"You stole that." My voice came out angry.

"You saved it." He was embarrassed that I'd caught him, but he made it sound like I'd done something wrong.

I felt patronized. "So?"

He hesitated. "So if it weren't Bill, it might have been me."

Of course he'd make this about us. Eric had never pretended his interest in me was anything other than selfish. That was the difference between his flirtation and Bill's betrayal. "I knew your game."

"Maybe. But you trusted me more than you should, and they're cleverer than I am."

Bill was proof of that.

The anger ran out of me.

"I'm sorry to keep on this." He'd cooled too. He seemed more urgent than angry. "If you know, you can protect yourself."

"I won't be their asset." Sue me, but I liked to think of myself as more than some mark in a ledger.

"You will always be an asset to them." He held my eyes. "If I were you, I'd think how to maintain my freedom."

It was easily the most forthcoming Eric had ever been.

When I thought about why he'd tell me all this, I felt a lurch, like I was on the brink of something.

Eric never did anything without a reason.

He dropped our bullet in my hand. His fingers brushed my palm. My skin prickled.

"I'm sorry I took it," he said. "It was a good memory for me too."

Then, he got back in the car.

I felt sideswiped.

The bullet was still warm from his hand.

I walked to the passenger door. Eric was adjusting the driver's mirror.

"Eric?"

He looked at me. His eyes were incredibly blue. He hadn't had stubble in Dallas, or sunburn, but his eyes looked the same. I thought about how he'd kissed me that night, and my pulse picked up.

I had always wanted him, that was never our problem. But I didn't trust him, and this week had only built the wall between us.

A wall he seemed ready to dismantle.

I got inside the car and shut the door. He felt a lot closer than he had before we'd stopped.

"Why are you telling me this?" My mouth was dry.

"You are—" he said, and stopped himself. He was thinking about how I'd cared for Hadley that night in the motel.

He had nothing to gain from warning me.

Except my trust, a small part of me whispered.

But he wasn't thinking about trust or gain. He was thinking that he shouldn't have waited for me on New Year's Eve. And if he had it to do over, he'd wait again. He was thinking about unclicking my seatbelt, and easing me onto his lap. He was thinking burying himself in me, as I moved around him, against him.

His thoughts pulled up feelings I thought I'd forgotten. His bullet was warm in my hand, and I could feel that kiss all the way from Dallas. I don't know what would have happened if my phone hadn't rung.

That's a lie. I know exactly what would have happened.

But my ringtone broke the moment. My cell flashed blue in the cup holder.

"Leave it." Eric's voice was low.

I glanced at the display. Sam.

_Thank god._

I grabbed the cell, flipped it open. "You okay?"

I nearly wept in relief when Jason's voice came through the line. "Hey, Sook."


	27. Callus

Jason was all right.

It was the first good news I'd had in days.

Sam—who was a better friend than he was a boss, and that's saying something—had trekked to Hotshot and tracked my brother to the home of a Felton Norris. Of all the people to have kidnapped Jason, an unknown was unsettling. Between Jason and myself, the Stackhouses had racked up more enemies than I could remember.

Felton was the ex of Jason's current fling, Crystal. Both Crystal and Felton were werepanthers—Jason knew how to pick them, though I supposed I was one to talk. Felton still carried a torch for Crystal, and he'd gotten it in his head that she'd like my brother a little less if he joined the panther clan.

"He bit me," Jason said.

"I'm so sorry."

Eric knew the call was important—he'd advised me to send Sam to Hotshot in the first place. He fired up the engine, and kept his eyes on the road. My car was so small I knew he could hear everything even without vampire senses, but I was grateful for the appearance of privacy.

My brother was clearly hurting, so I didn't take it personally when he turned the phone over to Sam sooner than I would have liked.

"The panthers will take care of Felton in return for us keeping it from the cops," Sam said. 'Take care' chilled me, but Felton had kidnapped and tortured my brother. I was grateful for the werepanthers' justice. "Their leader, Calvin, is a man of his word."

Sam's say-so was good enough for me. "I can't thank you enough." I hesitated, but there was no getting around, "I have to ask another favor." Sam had already done enough, but with the Queen hiding out in Jason's home, it couldn't be helped.

"This got anything to do with your trip?" He knew I wasn't the kind of person who took impulsive vacations. I didn't need to read his thoughts to figure that he realized I was in trouble.

"Yeah," I said, because I didn't want to lie, and he wouldn't have believed me anyway. "I hate to ask—"

"Just ask." God bless Sam.

"You got anywhere you can hole up for a few days? Out of town. Both of you." I didn't think the Queen would target Sam, but the vamps might go after Jason to get leverage on me. Especially if he walked into their hideout.

"My folks have a place in Texas." I could hear Sam's reluctance.

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

"I know."

Silence. I was asking a lot and giving almost nothing. I'd been on Sam's side of these types of requests more often than I liked. Often with a big Viking insisting I do as he said. I snuck a glance at Eric. He kept his eyes on the road, but I knew he was listening.

"All right," Sam said finally.

"Thank you." The words didn't feel like enough. He was uprooting his life. He'd probably have to close the bar.

My phone beeped. Incoming call. As I sent it to voicemail, I felt a prickle of anticipation. It was probably Arlene calling to complain about my missed shifts, but if it were Hadley's landlady or Octavia, Eric and I might have a chance.

"I'll see you soon?" Sam wasn't able to keep the worry out of his voice.

I wished I could tell him everything. I wanted to talk to someone I trusted no matter what, and Sam had always been an ally.

"See you soon," I echoed, and hung up.

"He's in love with you," Eric said, as I scrolled to my missed calls.

"My brother is safe." In that moment, I wished I were driving to West Memphis with Sam instead of Eric. "Thanks for asking."

"It was clear from your conversation," he said, as if that were any kind of excuse. "I am glad you're relieved."

In other words, he didn't give a shit about Jason.

This was the Eric I knew.

My annoyance gave way to anticipation as I scanned my phone. "I just missed a call from New Orleans." No voicemail. If I were Octavia, I wouldn't have left one either.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know." But I had a hunch.

I hesitated. If Octavia knew about the curse, or even suspected, the vampires wouldn't be inclined let her live. I thought about waiting to call back until Eric was asleep or otherwise occupied, but I'd already tipped him off. Besides, whatever she had to say concerned him even more than me.

Eric's face was blank, which meant nothing good. I much preferred the Eric who'd joke with me, or even fight. Blank Eric was vampire Eric.

"Say the call is from Octavia," I began.

He raised his eyebrows – get to the point.

"I don't think she'd call if she's working with Marnie." The curse was hands off – it was only a matter of time before the ex-vamps were killed by their own or blundered into a public reckoning. Octavia could only endanger herself by reaching out.

He agreed, but kept it non-committal with, "You may be right."

"If she knows about the curse or even suspects—"

He saw where I was heading. "That knowledge is dangerous."

"And she can be glamoured." She might even be grateful for it.

Considering that glamour was the deal he'd offered Irma—who was, in fact, Marnie's conspirator—he didn't have much case to argue. He knew it too. "The Queen won't be so forgiving."

"The Queen doesn't have to know."

He didn't like that. Blank Eric was back.

I was sick of his double standard. "If you can lie to her on my behalf, you can lie on hers."

"I don't know this woman," Eric said, as if I were being unreasonable. "Neither do you."

"You know of her," slipped out in anger. "You wouldn't if I'd kept my mouth shut."

That hung between us.

I hadn't meant to tell him. I didn't see the point. I couldn't imagine he'd care about my conscience, but that was the heart of it. "If something happens to her…" It would be on me. I couldn't bring myself to say it aloud.

Eric thought I needed to learn to detach. To stop caring.

But he didn't want to be the one to teach me.

"Fine," he said.

I hadn't come close to convincing him, so it took me a moment to catch up. "Fine?"

"Fine. Glamour. I won't tell the Queen unless I have to." He was annoyed with me. And himself. He nodded at my cellphone. "You talk. I'll raise too many questions."

"Thank you." Neither of us were making the smart choice, but it was the only one I could stomach.

"This is not a game you win," he said. "She's Queen for a reason."

I knew he was right.

I scrolled to the New Orleans number. I pressed send and speaker. The phone rang once. Someone answered, with a click. No greeting.

"Hello?" I said.

An unfamiliar woman's voice drifted out of the speaker, rich and melodic. "You said your project was cursed?"


	28. Beggarticks

An unfamiliar woman's voice drifted out of the speaker, rich and melodic. "You said your project was cursed?"

Octavia.

Eric met my eyes. He was as on edge as I was.

"Yes." I didn't see any reason to play coy. If Octavia were in league with Marnie, I'd tipped her off by reaching out. "Thank you for calling."

She fought to keep fear out of her voice. "Why should I help you?"

The question was a test, but I didn't know what answer to give. The real reason—help me stop the extermination of Louisiana's vampires and the ensuing political instability—was so off limits I hardly dared think it.

I'd never met Octavia, but something in her tone made me think she'd see through any story I fed her. Plus, I was tired of lying. I decided to go with the truth. Or as much truth as I could give without putting us all in danger.

Which was not much at all. "I can't say," I said. "And if I could, you're better off not knowing. But know lives—in the plural—are on the line." My own included. "I wish I could give you some kind of proof. But it's not possible."

There was a painful pause. "You sound like a sincere young woman—" I could see the soft no from a mile away. I'd been collecting them my whole life.

I cut her off. Gran would be horrified, but desperate times. "I found a spell. The Living Dead."

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"I heard you." After a painful pause, "You said lives are at stake?"

"Yes."

She exhaled. Cursed. Rock and a hard place.

Join the club.

"I am going to tell you about the last time I saw Marnie," Octavia said. "And I don't want you to say a thing—if I'm right, wrong. If any of it came to pass. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

"You will never contact me again."

"Okay."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Eric pulled into the shoulder again. He was making a habit of this. A car whipped past us. My Malibu shook. Déjà vu.

Octavia seemed to be steeling herself. "What do you know about the Living Dead?"

"It's a spell," I said. "That's it."

"It's a spell for communicating with the deceased. It's difficult. It hardly ever lasts for more than a minute. Enough time to ask a question, maybe two."

So, the Living Dead was sort of like a magic Ouija board. I didn't think the comparison would go over well with Octavia, so I kept it to myself.

"The spell derives energy from a talisman – almost always a piece of the deceased. A bone. Or corpse, if it's a recent death. If you destroy the talisman, it ends the spell," Octavia said. "Marnie thought she could modify the Living Dead to force a disruption in the barrier between life and death. She'd use the basic magical framework, but force a bigger change. You understand?"

I did—half from what she was saying, but mostly through what she wasn't. Octavia hadn't said 'vampire,' and I was sure it wasn't by accident. Marnie wanted to modify the Living Dead to make the dead live. In other words, to make vampires human. This was the 'disruption' she hoped to force.

"I do," I said.

"Marnie planned to use the spell against those responsible for the death of her parents." In other words, vampires. "She believed it would create chaos and they'd destroy themselves."

I had to admire the simplicity of Marnie's plan—turn the vampires human, let them do the rest. It said everything about the creatures she believed they were. The creatures they'd mostly proven themselves to be.

"She asked for my help. I refused. I couldn't disrupt the natural order. Even to avenge a dear friend."

I was certain that Octavia meant Marnie's mother. I felt sympathy for this woman—who'd lost a friend to vampires and decided to help me anyway, for no other reason than she thought it was right.

"Now, such a spell could not exist," Octavia said, too quickly. She wasn't stupid. She knew. "But if it did – theoretically – it could be broken just like the Living Dead. By destroying the talisman."

I had to know brass tacks. If I understood Octavia, the talisman was a bone. "By destroy, you mean crush?"

"A break is enough to disrupt the spell."

So all we had to do was find the bone Marnie used to anchor the Living Dead, and snap it. We'd be desecrating a grave. The thought made me ill. "And when I break the talisman?"

"Everything is as it was. The dead sleep again."

I met Eric's eyes. We had a path forward.

"Thank you." Silence. I was half afraid Octavia had hung up. If I were her, I probably would have. But before she did, there was something I had to know. "Are you home?"

She hesitated before admitting, "No."

"Good. If I were you, I'd leave town. As soon as you're able." I guessed my voicemail was the only reason she'd called, but there was no harm in making sure she got the message. Eric could find and glamour her later. If the Queen got to Octavia first, my deal with him was void.

"Amelia passed on your message," she said. Good.

"Be safe." I hung up.

I let out a long breath.

We had to find the talisman to break to spell. And for a spell of such personal importance, I was sure Marnie wouldn't use any old bones.

"The parents' grave," Eric said.

I nodded.

My guess was the mother's grave. Marnie carried a photograph of her, after all—I'd bet anything she'd cast the Living Dead using Alice Stonebrook's bone as an anchor.

The first step to finding the graves, Eric and I agreed, was discovering how the Stonebrook parents died. We knew they'd been killed by vampires. The curse's focus on Louisiana, rather than Marnie's native Arkansas, suggested the murder happened there. She'd been in Area 5 when she'd unleashed the curse, which could narrow the scope. Maybe the talisman – the key to breaking the curse—had been under our nose the entire time.

If we were right and Louisiana vampires killed Marnie's parents, there was a chance we knew the man who'd given the order.

Whether he remembered was another matter.

"Card sharks?" Andre's voice drifted out from Eric's cell.

Eric and I sat at Marnie's kitchenette, his phone open in front of us. We'd decided to give her trailer a once over before we headed home.

"Or thieves," Eric said. "Their death would have been—"

He fumbled for a date. After a thousand years, time must lose specificity. I jotted ' _1975?_ ' on a napkin. Marnie's parents would have been slightly older than mine.

Eric nodded thanks. "Mid-seventies?" We'd agreed he'd take the lead with Andre. I didn't want to attract the Queen's interest any more than I already had. "They robbed a casino in Arkansas. They may have done the same in your territory."

"If they're dead," Andre said, "what does it matter?"

"I found notes in Stonebrook's home." Eric was talking around Octavia. "Her parents' bones could help us solve the… current problem." He wasn't going to say 'curse' over the phone.

"There's no sign of Stonebrook herself?"

"No." The lies made me squirm, but they hadn't caught up with us so far. "Do you remember the parents?"

"I don't." Andre sounded tired. I felt a chill. Eric hadn't remembered if he'd killed Marnie's parents either. "I would imagine the people who meet that kind of end aren't found." Andre continued, with lawyerly caution. "Unless they were meant to be an example."

If Marnie's parents had stolen from vampires, they'd be a prime 'example.'

"I see," said Eric.

I could think of a half-dozen follow-up questions, but I had to trust we'd gotten what we needed. Andre's non-answer seemed to mean something to Eric. I met Eric's eyes across the table. He nodded – we're good.

"How is the telepath?" Andre asked.

"Cooperating," Eric said, too quickly.

There was a silence I could only call ominous. I didn't move, for fear of making a noise Andre might hear. "Good." The paranoid part of me was sure that he knew I was listening.

"I'll be back tomorrow or the day after," Eric said.

"Don't delay."

Eric snapped the phone shut and turned to me. "If I were him, I would have asked about you too." He meant to be reassuring, but it just made me more unsettled.

I shoved worry aside. Andre clearly mistrusted me. I'd have to deal with him soon enough, but there was no point dwelling on it while our other problems loomed large.

"When he said 'example'…"

"A warning to other thieves." I knew that much. "Your police would've found the parents. It'd be treated like a normal investigation." One without hope of ever being solved. "Eventually, the remains would be returned to the family."

So the graves were likely here in Arkansas.

Relief ran through me. Tomorrow would no doubt bring its own horrors, but we were a step closer to breaking the curse. Mark's wife had mentioned a cemetery. Maybe the Stonebrooks had a family plot. I was sure there were other maybes to consider once my brain wasn't so fuzzy, but I felt exhausted. Eric didn't look much better. We hadn't slept since the Chickasaw motel. I doubted we'd gotten an hour that night between the two of us.

"I'm dead on my feet," I said. "We can chase the body down in the morning."

"You want to sleep here?" He wondered if it were safe.

There had only been one set of footprints on the steps. Irma hadn't thought about any other conspirators. And since we planned to search the trailer for clues, we'd leave only to come back.

"It's a couple hours," I said. "We've got Pam's gun."

Pam's empty gun.

I was so exhausted that reasoning felt sound.

Eric looked into the night. He couldn't see more than a few feet. He felt blind, and troubled by how quickly his body had reoriented towards the day. How easy would it be to get used to the rest of it?

I pushed up my shields. I wasn't eager to fall back into Eric's thoughts. Especially after what happened in the car.

He surrendered whatever war he was fighting against his circadian rhythms, because he asked, "Do you want the bed?"

There was an unspoken invitation in his voice.

Not so unspoken, as he sunk onto said bed and kicked off his shoes. It was a glorified twin, tucked into a nook in the wall. Eric looked at me. I swallowed.

I looked over at the couch. It was small – practically a loveseat. Eric would have to crunch in on himself to lie down. But Sam or even Jason would have made a show of playing Galant by offering to take it. Eric probably didn't see the point. He was taller than me. He was taking the bed. I was welcome to join him.

"I'm fine on the couch," I said.

"Okay." He stretched. All six feet four of him. I knew it was for my benefit.

I knew I should roll my eyes and turn my back. Instead, I unclipped my hair, as I always do before bed. He watched me shake it out. I liked the feeling of his eyes on me. I was trying to be natural, but I felt a little like the Herbal Essences girl.

This was such a bad idea.

Eric shrugged off his flannel. He was better at the fake-natural thing than I was. The Cowboys t-shirt we'd stolen from the motel was small on him. It left little to the imagination.

I thought about peeling off that shirt, and running my hands over his chest. "How are your bruises?"

"My what?" His mind had been elsewhere. His eyes were on me, and I didn't need to read his thoughts to know them.

Oh hell.

I sat beside him. The bed nook made him seem closer than he had any right to be—we were like sexy sardines. I put my hand on his T-shirt, its thin cotton so unlike what he usually wore.

We'd crossed a line in the car. I didn't see any point in pretending otherwise.

I pulled his shirt over his head.

Bruises mottled his chest. Beau's beating had left an ugly cut on his back that was beginning to scab. The wound looked clean, but you couldn't be too sure. "I should wash this." It was a lame excuse to touch him.

"Maybe a shower?" Eric's voice was husky. He'd play along, so long as we both knew where we were heading.

He put his hand on my hip. His thumb drew a lazy circle, each rotation reaching lower. I wanted to move his hand south. I knew what his fingers could do.

He read my hesitation. "Sookie?"

I wanted him. Sue me. He was the most gorgeous man I'd ever met. And he wanted me too. I'm not ashamed to admit how good that made me feel. I spooked half the patrons in Merlotte's, and here was this beautiful person who thought I was great and made no secret about it.

I'd also seen him at his worst. I'm not proud of the choices I make when I'm afraid and angry, and I knew Eric felt the same. I'd heard as much in his thoughts. But in the first days of the curse, I'd discovered how cruel he could be. He'd also lied to the Queen to protect me. He'd helped Octavia for my sake. He'd given me advice that could jeopardize his position.

I wanted fun Eric, easy Eric. The Eric who'd joke with me, and kiss me like he did in Jackson. I didn't want the Sheriff of Area 5. The man who'd strongarm me to advance his power.

But it was all Eric. He was the same person.

My throat was dry. "She's got to have a first aid kit." I stood up, feeling like the world's biggest coward.

I shut the bathroom door between us. My breath slowed. I had to be smart.

My relationship with Eric was complicated enough. My life was complicated enough.

I dug through the witch's medicine cabinet, and found a tube of Neosporin.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. I braced myself.

I tossed the Neosporin to Eric as I opened the door. He caught it, one handed. "Put this on the cut." He was still shirtless. I averted my eyes.

"I've treated you badly. I'm sorry." He actually felt regret. I read it in his thoughts. But I knew him well enough to guess that he also thought an apology was the quickest way to that shower.

"Goodnight, Eric." I flicked off the overhead light, and drew the curtain separating the bed nook from the rest of the trailer.

* * *

I couldn't sleep. The loveseat proved short even for me, and Eric's breathing—just feet away—was a distraction. It didn't seem slow enough for sleep, but I wasn't about to investigate.

I was surprised that Eric didn't follow me—one part regretful, if I'm being honest, but the other two parts were relief. Nice as it would be to forget the world for a while, I was afraid of opening a door I couldn't close.

Plus, we were in the home of a woman Eric had killed. Yes, it had been self-defense, and she certainly would have done worse to us, but the thought of doing anything here was unsettling.

Since I couldn't sleep, I figured I might as well be useful. I rummaged through my purse until I found Marnie's copy of _His Lordship's Lover_. She'd hidden the annotated Living Dead spell inside.

Given what we'd learned from Octavia, I hoped I could make more sense of the spell, but Marnie's handwritten notes may as well have been in another language. They were mostly proportions and calculations – the type of thing I'd see on Gran's recipe cards—except Marnie dealt in grave dirt rather than baking soda.

My attention turned to a cramped scrawl at the bottom of the spell. _'Heart's desire'_ made no sense at all, but _'Energy to trigger – a death?'_ sent a chill through me.

Chow killed Irma's sister, tripping the curse. What if Marnie's attempted takeover of Fangtasia had been designed to anger the vampires to violence? She'd tried to negotiate a nookie with Eric. That ask made it seem like she'd been looking for a fight. Was revenge so important to Marnie and her followers they'd accepted a suicide mission?

We couldn't ask them—which was its own kind of answer.

Marnie's last note seemed particularly ominous: _'Bind the spread?'_

Before I could worry too much about the curse becoming unbound—whatever that meant—I noticed pink streaks in the sky.

It was almost dawn.

It would be a long day. I couldn't let the chance to sleep pass by. But I also couldn't stop my mind turning.

Marnie's home was painfully lacking in distractions.

Other than Eric.

I looked into the yard. Trees loomed large. Those yellow flowers moldered in Marnie's sad garden.

Her living room was bare, except for the loveseat, a bookshelf and an old rabbit-eared TV. If I were home, I'd flick on the tube and let the blue light lull me to sleep, but I didn't want to disturb Eric.

So I turned to the bookshelf and, what would you know, I was luck.

Marnie's personal library was full of romance novels.

Yes, really.

I thought she'd been intentionally sneaky when she hid the Living Dead inside His Lordship's Lover, but maybe she'd actually liked the book.

Call me a softie, but ruthless as Marnie had been, it made me like her a little imagining her as a fellow romance connoisseur. While I hadn't been as big a fan of the _Lordship's Lover_ series, Marnie was up-to-date on _Truly Madly Viking_ , which had always been a favorite.

Not that I'd share that information with Eric. I snuck a glance through a crack in the curtain. Eric lay on the bed, knees crooked to fit on the mattress. His eyes were shut.

Maybe he'd actually fallen asleep.

Maybe I could drift off with the help of one of Marnie's romances. My love life was so tangled, I'd prefer spending time in someone else's. As my fingers ran across the books' spines, I thought of Eric's hand on my hip. I hadn't felt like that since…

Well, since Bill.

I forced my eyes back to the shelves. If I revisited the _Viking_ series, Eric would read into my choice. As I scanned for an alternative, they landed on the odd book out—hard-bound and coffee-table sized. No publisher gave romances enough credit to treat them to such a classy printing.

I slid out the fancy book. _NATIVE PLANTS OF LOUISIANA._

Maybe Marnie actually had been a gardener—her sad, dying flowerbed aside.

Or… maybe not.

Marnie lived in Arkansas, not Louisiana. And why would a casual gardener, a gal who couldn't even keep flowers alive, invest in a book aimed at collectors?

I opened Native Plants. If nothing else, a catalog of Louisiana flora was sure to put me to sleep.

Marnie had dog-eared a page midway through. I flipped to it, and took in a sketch of a yellow wildflower. It was the same plant clinging to life in Marnie's flowerbed. I'd been correct in recognizing it from home. Bon Temps cemetery had been yellow with them just last month.

A helpful blurb told me more than I ever wanted to know about Bidens Aristosa (commonly known as Beggarticks, in case you're wondering, though I can't imagine why you would be). A map showed the flower's spread across the Southeast—a map that roughly corresponded to my home state's borders.

I thought back to Marnie's notes. _'Bind the spread?'_

I pulled back the curtain. "Eric?"

He cracked an eye.

So he hadn't been able to sleep either.


	29. Hooky

Marnie didn't have a shovel, but she did own salad servers. I held a Maglite while Eric used her oversized fork to uproot the Beggarticks.

To this day, I don't know if the flowers were Marnie's way of binding the curse to Louisiana, or simply her way of marking the spot where she'd buried the talisman.

Because that's what we found in her yard.

Eric's hand cramped when he'd got a foot under the surface, so we switched off. I hacked at the dirt while he held the Maglite. After a few minutes, the sun started to rise in earnest, so he switched the flashlight off.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd stayed up for the sunrise. Godfrey, probably. Eric turned to watch and I didn't grudge him the moment.

After a minute, he grabbed the salad spoon and helped me dig.

The sun was past the horizon when my fork scraped something hard. I scraped again. Dirt flaked away, revealing cloth.

Eric dropped to his knees and put his hands in the mud. I let him take the lead. Huge as this could be for me, it was even more important to him. His anticipation, and a healthy amount of fear, pressed on my shields.

Eric drew a lump of muddy canvas from the earth. He unwrapped the top layer, revealing a what seemed to be an old window curtain. Written on it, in a dried brown substance that could only be blood, were three sets of initials. M.S., M.S., and A.L.

The M.S.'s were undoubtedly the Stonebrooks. I'd bet Irma's sister's initials had been A.L.

If I hadn't been sure before, I was now.

Under the cloth was a lacquered container – the Valentine's chocolates box I'd seen in Irma's mind.

What did you know? She'd pulled one over on me.

Eric made to open the box and hesitated. "It could be a trap," he said.

"Yes." But we'd come too far to backtrack. I took the box from him and cracked the lid, revealing something small and white. It couldn't be anything but a bone. A rib, maybe. I wasn't an expert and didn't care to be.

It couldn't be anything but the talisman.

"Thank god," I said.

If Octavia were to be believed, all we had to do was break it.

It was over. They were safe—Eric, Pam, all of them.

Relief washed over me.

I put the lid on the box and offered it to Eric. "You better keep it, don't you think?" If I were him, I'd want it close. When night fell, he could break the curse.

Eric looked from the box to me. I couldn't puzzle out his expression. It was like he was trying to memorize my features.

"What?" I said.

He set the box aside. In one motion, he wrapped his hands in my hair and kissed me. "You're so beautiful," he said, when we broke apart. "You don't even know it."

My heart was beating fast. My face prickled from his stubble. It felt different from the last time I'd kissed Eric, in Jackson. The way he looked at me felt different.

It felt good.

So I kissed him back.

* * *

We stumbled to the trailer. I couldn't disentangle myself from his lips long enough to open the door. I fumbled with the lock blind, one-handed. If I turned away for one second I could have made it work. But I didn't want to. I kept kissing him. I felt like a stupid teenager, and I didn't even care.

Eric scooped me in his arms like I weighed nothing, and shouldered the door open. He took a few lurching steps. The unsteadiness probably had to do with the fact that I was peeling off his shirt. Oh god, those abs. I let my hand rest on his stomach.

I wanted him so much he made me shiver. I knew we shouldn't be doing this here, in Marnie's home, but I shoved the thought aside. I wanted to live in this relief. It was over. We were going to be all right. We'd make it out alive.

We flopped onto the couch. The bedroom was a trailer away, and too far. Eric tried to take off my shirt while I worked on his belt. Our arms kept bumping each other.

"One at a time," he said.

I put my hands over my head. He pulled off my top, looked me up, then down. It made me feel beautiful. "I've missed these," he said, to my breasts. I had to laugh. How could he miss them? He'd hardly met them in the first place.

Eric slid his hands around me. He pulled me onto his lap. Drew a ragged breath. I could feel him, through his jeans. He was ready. So was I.

I fumbled with his belt, fly—worried the jeans over his hips. He kicked them off. I've never been so glad to see someone go commando.

He ran his hand up my bare leg, under my skirt, and stroked me through my panties. When I made an encouraging noise, he slipped a finger into me. One, then two. I wrapped my hand around his length. He groaned, and dropped his head onto my shoulder.

His breath was hot against my skin.

He was breathing.

He was warm.

The world rushed back. "You have a condom?"

Eric stopped moving his fingers. "Is this a bad time?" It took me a second to realize what he was talking about.

He hadn't had to think about birth control for 1000 years.

The timing wasn't terrible, but "I'm not having sex without a condom." Imagine if I got pregnant. That would be—well, not good, to put it mildly. Disastrous to be frank. It wasn't a risk I'd take. No matter how much I wanted him.

Eric kissed my jaw. "I'll pull out."

Too risky. "No."

He'd had six children with his wife. I caught it from his thoughts.

I stilled. I'd never imagined him as a husband. Let alone a father.

"Would it be so terrible?" he murmured, between kisses.

Lust had made him stupid. We'd found the talisman. He was hours from turning back. I felt a chill.

"You're not thinking," I said.

Neither of us were.

Eric looked at me. He knew what I meant. But he said, "Not yet."

I let him lean me back against the sofa. He kissed his way down my stomach and slid me out of my skirt. He tucked a finger under the band of my panties and peeled them off. I shivered as he kissed the crook of my hip, the inside of my thigh. He looked at me for permission.

I nodded, and he proved again why I consider him a world-class kisser. Afterward, I helped him to his own good moment.

When we finished, we lay on the sofa. His legs dangled off the edge. I couldn't believe that the bed had been so close and we hadn't made it.

"I still want you," he said, with admiration and a little extra.

I wanted him too.

* * *

I woke up first.

Sunlight cut the blinds, striping Eric's face. His breath was even, slow.

In sleep, he looked untroubled, almost like a different person. He could be a friend of Sam's or my brother's. We'd met at Merlotte's. We'd met at the library.

I ran my hand down his back. He put an arm around me. Reflex, I think.

I relaxed into him. He felt warm and solid. I knew I had to think about what we'd done. But I didn't want to spoil this feeling.

* * *

The second time I woke up, I was alone.

Panic rushed through me, recrimination close behind.

I sat up, scanning for my clothes. My eyes landed on Eric's shoes, in the middle of the carpet, right where he'd kicked them off.

He hadn't gone far.

I let out a long breath. Relief.

I knew I should regret what we'd done. But the glow of the moment hadn't worn off. He'd called me beautiful, and more. I'd felt shy telling him how much I appreciated his body.

"You're gorgeous," I'd said, after about his tenth compliment.

"Which parts?"

Everything about him was heart stopping, but I appreciated the rear view in particular. I squeezed his butt.

"Not this?" he'd pressed, pressing himself against me.

I had to smile. I'd taken him in my hand. He was larger than I'd imagined, and that was saying something. "The only thing bigger than this is your ego."

He laughed.

"But, yes," I'd said, "this too." After all, he'd promised honesty. The least I could do was return the favor.

I found him on the stoop, cell to his ear, broad shoulders hunched. I could see the lines of his back through that Cowboy's t-shirt. He ran his bare toes in the grass.

I let the screen door slam. He glanced over his shoulder. His eyes lingered on me.

"See you tonight," he said, and hung up.

"The Queen?"

"Message for Bill." There was an edge in his voice, as if the mention of my ex would somehow spoil our moment.

I wanted to dispel those fears. "Scooch." I sat beside him. Tucked my hand into the band of his jeans.

He relaxed.

"We have all day, don't we?" I asked. We couldn't break the talisman until night, unless the ex-vamps wanted to end up as cinders. I wasn't in any hurry to head back to Andre. I knew Eric felt the same.

"They'll expect us after sundown."

That left the day to spend as we wanted. And I didn't want to spend it with the specter of Bill. Or Sophie-Anne. Or any of the problems we couldn't avoid once night fell.

I knew I had to think about Eric. About us. But that could wait till sundown too. I'd earned a breath.

"Have you ever had coffee?" I asked.

He hadn't, but he wasn't interested.

I was halfway through making a pot when the shower turned on. He left the bathroom door ajar. The shower was barely big enough for him, let alone both of us, but we are nothing if not creative problem solvers.

Afterwards, we squeezed into the bed. I'd never gotten to appreciate him up close, in full light. His body was crisscrossed by scars – souvenirs of a human life spent fighting. I traced them.

He took my hand, and moved it to a scar on his torso. It looked like a backward C.

"This one's lucky," he said. "An inch to the left, and I'd be dead."

Dead, a thousand years ago.

I shivered.

* * *

We stopped for gas on our way out of Memphis.

I wandered through the convenience store while Eric filled up. I thought about getting a soda, but my feet led me to personal care.

I sidled up to Eric as he topped off the tank, angling my shopping bag so he could see what I'd bought.

"How much did you spend?" he asked.

That wasn't the response I expected or, honestly, hoped for. "Three ninety-nine."

He reached into his pocket, and flashed a foil pack. "Twenty-five cents," he said, sure in his victory. "There's a machine in the men's room."

I laughed. It was like a sexy gift of the magi.

We took every wrong turn we could find, chasing dirt roads and overgrown fields.

We parked at the end of what could barely be called a trail. Just cicadas, kudzu and us.

We were playing hooky. And if any part of me felt guilty, I told myself we'd earned our time out of time.

* * *

Eric lay on my chest in the afternoon sun.

I liked daytime sex. I tucked that away to think about later.

"If I didn't turn back—" he said.

I sat up.

If he didn't turn back, he'd be killed.

"If didn't have to turn back—" Eric corrected, but even that wasn't right. "If I didn't know any more than this," he finally said, "I'd be happy."

I didn't know if that were true, but I could tell he wanted it to be.

I drew him back to my chest. His skin was rough and warm. I wondered how different he would feel tomorrow.

"You're quiet," he said, suddenly unsure.

"If it were just this," I said, "I'd be happy too."


	30. Reckoning

The sun was a sliver as we left the 'Welcome to Louisiana' sign in our rear view. Eric's eyes lingered on the horizon.

"Will you miss it?" I asked.

"Sure," he said. Then, "Being a vampire is better."

I took that to mean he'd miss it. But not much.

Or – he would miss it. And he didn't want me to know how much.

He was thinking about another sunset. Walking home drunk. Something lunged out of the ice, maybe an animal. I wasn't trying to listen, but his thoughts slipped past my shields.

"I'd miss it." I said, mostly to fill the silence. His thoughts were full of ice and blood.

He gave me his full attention. "Then you've thought about it."

It took me a moment to realize 'it' meant being turned.

From the look on his face, I knew he'd thought about turning me. I felt a chill.

I took a deep breath. Just because he'd considered it didn't mean he'd act.

"Yes," I said, because I had thought about it. "And no," because I knew in my bones it wasn't what I wanted.

Even when I'd imagined spending my life with Bill, I'd hadn't wanted to be like him. The thought of a maker having control over me like Lorena over Bill—even Eric over Pam—filled me with dread.

Eric nodded, as if this was what he'd suspected. "All right."

But I could feel something thrumming in his thoughts. Something on the tip of his tongue. "What?" Eric had promised me honesty. Withholding was halfway to a lie.

I dipped into his mind just as he said, "I told Andre you wouldn't want it."

The threat of Andre turning me was too terrible to imagine.

Eric hadn't wanted to tell me. He was afraid I'd hear it in his thoughts. But coerced truth—truth under the threat of telepathy—wasn't what I wanted from him.

He realized he'd spooked me. "I didn't tell you because I don't want to scare you. It's not…" he cast for the right words, "an imminent threat."

Given his 1000-year tenure on earth, Eric's definition of 'imminent' was more forgiving than mine. "Is he planning on turning me?" I fought to keep my voice level.

"Not yet." That was hardly reassuring. "Maybe not ever. We don't know how it would affect your ability."

Of course my 'ability' would be the deciding factor. I knew Andre didn't give a shit about my wants, but it was tough to hear the calculus.

"If it came to that, I'd rather…" I struggled to find a word other than 'die.' It felt too morbid to say aloud, even if it were the truth. "I don't want to come back."

I met Eric's eyes. I knew he could read my panic. But he just said, "Okay."

I was disappointed. "Okay?" I needed assurance. I needed more than a hell of a lot more than 'okay.'

I regretted what we'd done in the trailer.

The shower.

The car.

There was a painful pause. Eric looked at me. He seemed to be steeling himself. "You are sure?"

"Yes."

"Then you won't come back." It was a promise. I knew he meant it, because he was angry that I'd asked it of him. Angry at himself for agreeing.

"Okay." I was too exhausted to find a new word.

Eric had just agreed to kill me rather than let Andre turn me. It was horrible. But, it was also a favor—and a big one. I forced myself to say, "Thank you." And I did feel grateful, under all the dread.

He saw how afraid I was. The anger ran out of him. "My maker is not exactly Andre, but they're of a kind," he said, to my surprise. He didn't want that for me.

He'd used the present tense. His maker was alive. Or undead, as the case may be.

"I'm sorry."

Eric shrugged. "He leaves me be."

'For now' hung between us.

Something in his expression made me sure he was bracing himself for the day his maker walked back into his life. A life that could include me, if I wanted.

I had a lot to think about.

"When this is over, she'll keep you close." He meant the Queen, of course.

"She'll try," I said, with bravado I didn't feel.

"We'll make a plan," Eric said, as if it were decided. I raised an eyebrow and he amended with a hasty, "If you want."

"Thanks," I said, because that was as light as Eric's touch got, and I appreciated the offer almost as much as him realizing he'd overstepped.

The Queen was a problem, but I didn't know if I wanted Eric's help solving it. A few days ago, I'd have been sure whatever arrangement he'd dream up would benefit him even more than me.

I hardly expected Eric to be selfless now, but maybe I could do worse than trust him.

* * *

Eric was wound tight as I took the highway exit for Bon Temps.

We'd stopped for Popeye's, but even fried chicken couldn't lighten the mood. He finished a chicken wing with the joyless acceptance he always brought to eating, and threw the scraps into our Popeye's bag like they'd caused him personal injury.

Stars smattered the sky. We could have snapped the talisman then, but I figured Eric felt obligated to cede curse-breaking honors to the Queen.

I put on my turn signal for Jason's, where Sophie-Anne had holed up, but Eric said, "Go home first."

I stopped. The road was empty, so I could sit it in the intersection without collecting honks. "Why?"

"Bill's meeting us," Eric said. "We'll see the Queen together."

Bill was not my favorite person. Which Eric knew. Which is why he needed a damn good reason for setting a play date. "Why?" Also, why had Eric waited this long to tell me?

"An over-precaution," he said, answering both my questions. "He'll testify to your loyalty."

And why would the Queen need a character witness?

As soon as I bothered to think about it, the answer fell into place—Sophie-Anne might not want to keep a human around who had firsthand knowledge of the curse.

Panic raced through me. I was so sick of feeling afraid. "The Queen and I made a bargain."

Eric's eyes flicked to the talisman. He'd put the Valentine's box in my cup holder. "When the curse ends, the rules change."

He was right, of course.

Headlights flashed in my back window—an annoyed driver wondering why I'd parked in the intersection like an idiot.

I put on my right turn signal—toward my house, not Jason's. Eric squeezed my hand. "Bill won't be long. He said eight, eight fifteen."

7:39 blinked from the display clock. I had twenty-one minutes to prepare myself.

I should've prepped earlier. But I'd been disarmed by relief. I'd convinced myself the time for plans was over. I hadn't imagined our homecoming would be a cakewalk, but Eric had clearly thought it through more than I had. "You'd better tell me your plan," I said.

If I'd thought he'd reassure me, I was in for a surprise.

Because Eric had lied to the Queen.

Again.

"I withheld," he corrected. If there was a hair to split, count on him to do it.

Eric hadn't told the Queen that we'd found the talisman. "As soon as she breaks the curse, I'm at a disadvantage," he said.

Before Eric gave the talisman to the Queen, he had to know his position was secure. Basically, he wanted to inoculate her with a dose of pro-Eric propaganda. He knew Andre mistrusted him. He suspected he'd been whispering in the Queen's ear. "He worries I have too much interest in you," he said. "And he thinks I'm ambitious."

"Ambitious enough to plot against the Queen?"

"She's a fair ruler," Eric said. "I'm lucky to live in her territory. But she didn't get where she is by trusting people like me."

He had to lead the Queen to trust. He planned to walk her through what we'd discovered, with Bill and Pam as supporting witnesses. He'd buff my contributions and his own, presenting himself as a loyal servant. In this version of events, I'd been trustworthy and obedient. My telepathy was an invaluable asset.

Eric would omit the parts of the story that made him look less than reliable – he never killed Marnie ("Who knows where she might be? Probably dead.") and I'd never warned Octavia. Notes in the witch's trailer led us to the talisman—notes that he'd (conveniently) destroyed to hide the knowledge of the curse.

When the Queen was suitably grateful, he'd hand over the talisman.

"And if she asks why you didn't give it to her as soon as you walked in the door?"

"She's a vampire," Eric said. "She'll understand."

It sounded less than convincing to me, but this was his wheelhouse. And if Eric were truly disloyal, why would he bring the talisman to her at all? I had to trust he knew what he was doing. But I saw a gaping hole. "She'll keep looking for Marnie."

"Maybe we found a suicide note."

This wasn't _His Lordship's Lover_. "Maybe you should own up to killing her." He raised his eyebrows as if to say – why? "Say we found her in Arkansas," I spitballed. "Say everything we learned from Octavia, I read in her thoughts."

"Say she attacked you," he said, cottoning on.

"And say you killed her to protect the Queen's asset."

That 'asset' was me. The word still made me feel uncomfortable, but Eric smiled. "For someone who's stubborn about honesty, you're a good liar."

He meant it as compliment, but it didn't make me feel great.

His plan wasn't perfect – no plan was – but withholding the talisman still made me nervous. "Hand me the chicken bag."

"Why?"

"Over-precaution." Eric caught the dig and raised his eyebrows, but he passed me the Popeye's bag. It was full of our fried chicken leavings.

If we waltzed into Jason's with a human rib, Andre might realize its significance. We'd asked about the Stonebrook's corpses—we'd practically led him to water. And if he found the talisman before Eric had a chance to hand it over, it wouldn't look great.

I opened the Valentine's box, and dropped the talisman in the Popeye's bag with the rest of our trash. It didn't really look like a chicken bone, but I hoped it would fool a first glance. I also bet that the smell of human food would deter the ex-vamps from investigating closely.

I handed the Popeye's bag to Eric.

"In plain sight," he said, with admiration. He was thinking about me.

I flushed.

After that, there wasn't much to do but head home. When we turned onto my driveway, it felt like New Year's all over again. The shadows gathered in such a way it almost looked like there was a man on my porch swing. I could picture Eric there, drawn in on himself.

I glanced at Eric in the passenger seat. He was looking at my house, and I knew he was thinking about that night too.

"Why did you come here?" I asked. "To me, I mean."

"I don't know," he said. "One minute, I was at the bar. The next, I was here."

Here, and breathing. None of it made sense.

"Maybe there was a second curse," he said, after a moment.

That made even less sense. "Targeting you?"

He chose his words with care. "I wanted you." He hesitated. "And I nearly lost you."

He said 'I wanted you' like it subbed for something else.

I didn't know what to say. I knew Eric wanted acknowledgement, if not assurance, but I was afraid of giving him a commitment I couldn't keep.

"Today was good." When this was over, we'd figure out tomorrow. I had to decide what I wanted. What I could want, with him.

It wasn't the answer he'd hoped for, but he nodded.

There was a change in the air as I parked the car. It felt like the end of something.

"You'll still be my lover," he said, as if a declarative statement could make it so.

I wasn't sure about that, but he was my lover today. I kissed him like I was bottling it up to save.

"Ready?" he asked when we broke apart.

I wasn't, but I said, "Yes." As he was fond of reminding me, stalling never got you anywhere.

I stuffed the Popeye's bag in my purse and got out of the car. Eric put his hand on my back. I'd enjoy his warmth while I could.

My phone buzzed.

I glanced at the caller ID.

Octavia.

I had a sinking feeling as I raised the phone to my ear, but it was still a shock when my own voice come through the line.

"Amelia, this is Sookie. Hadley might have mentioned Octavia to her friends in New Orleans. You know how they can be, and I just wanted to give her a heads up—"

I hung up. I'd heard enough.

Eric was already looking at my house. I followed his gaze.

The man on my swing stood up, and flicked on the porch light.

It was one of Sophie-Anne's bodyguards. Jason's shotgun hung on his shoulder.

My front door creaked open.

Andre stepped into the porch light, and snapped a cell phone shut.


	31. The Damage

Eric had warned me. _If the Queen hears that message—_

The message had been the only way to win Octavia's trust. The only way to warn her. It had been the Christian thing to do.

It had been the wrong thing to do.

Andre leaned against my front door, the porch light carving shadows on his baby face. I knew two things as I approached:

He had found Octavia.

And she was likely dead.

She'd deserved a better end. She hadn't deserved to go at all.

I wanted to kill Andre. Maybe it was Eric's influence, but I actually thought about how I might do it.

Andre was slight, my height and, by all appearances, unarmed. I bet he'd hidden a weapon somewhere in his sharkskin suit, but without vampire juju, he only had a teenager's strength. If I could get him away from his bodyguard, I might have a chance.

"How did you find Octavia?" I asked as I stepped onto the porch.

My boldness surprised him. "You tell me."

The invitation felt like a trap, but I dipped into his thoughts anyway. I had to know.

The answer was so simple it made me feel sick: Octavia had left a forwarding address with Hadley's landlady.

Andre had broken into Amelia's apartment after he found Octavia's empty. He'd returned to New Orleans once Hadley told the Queen about Octavia. I'd thought getting Octavia out of town would be enough to protect her.

I'd been wrong.

Amelia had left an address book on her desk. And she'd forgotten to erase my message.

I cursed Amelia just as Andre thought, _Lucky break._

Andre showed me how he'd left Octavia's body. The visual was more frightening than anything he could have said. I realized the invitation into his thoughts had just been preamble to a threat.

"The witch told me she spoke to you at length," he said.

I was too angry to be careful. "I'm sure she told you anything you wanted to hear."

"Anything, but not everything." He didn't know where the talisman was. Octavia had never known its location. Andre assumed we'd been looking for it. Why else had we asked about the parents' bodies?

The porch steps creaked under Eric's weight. "Sookie left the message on my orders," he said, as if this were all a simple misunderstanding. "I needed the witch to trust her."

"Did you?" Andre said, with disinterest. He didn't give a shit whether Eric told me to warn Octavia. If he had, he was dangerously insubordinate. If he hadn't, he was too weak to control me. Either way, he wasn't a reliable Sheriff.

I realized that Andre planned to kill Eric. Just as soon as he found out what we knew about the talisman.

I fought to keep my face blank. My heart beat double-speed.

Andre nodded at the bodyguard—Sigebert, I heard in his thoughts—and the big guy stepped forward to intercept Eric. Sigebert moved with such purpose, I was afraid he'd attack, but instead he shot Eric a warning look – don't come closer. Eric eyed Jason's shotgun, slung over Sigebert's shoulder, and obeyed. The gun had belonged my Grandpa Mitchell. I felt sick seeing a family heirloom in unfriendly hands.

The big vamp started to frisk Eric. Eric submitted to Sigebert's search. He wondered if he could wrestle the shotgun away, but he didn't think he could overpower the bodyguard, and he knew Andre would attack me if he tried.

Andre watched, at a distance. His caution made sense to me. Physically, he was a child, while Eric was dangerous even without vampire strength. Andre wasn't going to get near Eric without Sigebert as a buffer.

I filed that away.

I had started to grope my way towards a plan. It wasn't a particularly good one – in fact there was a lot I downright hated about it – but any plan beat blind panic. The plan's first step swung my way when Sigebert found Eric's switchblade.

I had watched Eric tuck that knife in his boot when we'd dressed in the afternoon. He'd wanted me to keep it, but I'd told him it gave me the creeps. "I don't know how to use it," I'd said. I also didn't want to use it, but I figured a utility argument would hold more weight with Eric.

"There's one way to learn," he'd said, but he had taken the knife. He'd been thinking that stalling made everything harder.

With Eric safely disarmed, Andre approached me. "Give me your purse." Andre was so close I could smell his old man cologne. The scent made me nauseous. If I were braver—or dumber—I could have attacked him. If I were Eric's size, I might have been able to kill him.

But I wasn't brave, dumb or Eric, so I gave Andre my bag. He dumped it out.

The contents scattered: wallet, makeup, Pam's gun, Hadley's wooden chopsticks, His Lordship's Lover.

And the Popeye's bag.

Andre didn't think Eric would have entrusted the talisman to me, but it was better to turn every stone. He picked up Pam's pistol. "Sookie." He clicked his tongue, as if he were scolding a pooch, and tucked the gun in his jacket.

He shuffled through the rest of the mess. His hand hovered over the Popeye's bag. He picked it up. My pulse quickened. I'd always known he'd find our weapons. The talisman was another matter.

When he found it, Andre would kill Eric—and maybe me as well.

I had to do something.

Either we'd walk off this porch, or he would.

"I'll give you the talisman," I said. My pulse thudded in my ears. This was the moment – the do or die. "But I want to kill Eric."

I'd said it. There was no going back.

Those were magic words. Every man on that porch gave me his undivided attention.

Sigebert stepped towards me. I felt Eric's eyes on my back, but I didn't dare look at him.

And Andre set the Popeye's bag aside.

Chalk one up for Sookie.

I had Andre's interest. But he smelled a scam.

He'd been watching when I kissed Eric in the car, I realized with a chill. He'd suspected we were lovers since that night at Jason's—the way Eric looked at me confirmed Bill's warning. "I thought you two were friendly," he said. The euphemism made my skin crawl.

I forced myself to look at him. "I know what friendly means to you." I hadn't calculated my way into a relationship with Eric, but Andre would understand grabbing any advantage. It's what he'd done to me. "Bill and I were also friendly."

The lie felt as awful as any I've told. I hated saying it. I hated Eric hearing it. But it was my only chance of convincing Andre.

I was gratified by how angry I sounded.

Andre gave me an appraising look. "I suppose you do." He felt sorry for me. I didn't have time to puzzle out why, but it unsettled me almost as much as his threats.

He was thinking that I might have made a good vampire after all. It would be a shame to lose a telepath, but it couldn't be helped – I knew about the curse. Sophie-Anne had favored turning me. Her plans changed when she heard my message.

So I was as dead as Eric.

Andre wondered if I'd taste as good as Hadley, wondered what my blood type was.

"A negative," I said, in the same instant that Andre decided to drain me. It took everything I had to hold his gaze. If there was any human impulse he still understood, it was revenge. "Eric forced me into this. He good as killed me. I want him gone."

Andre wanted Eric gone too.

I was counting on it tipping the scales.

Andre looked at me, considering. He thought my request was reasonable. Creep.

I could feel Eric's anger, confusion. His thoughts pulled me in. He'd warned me. He had known better than to end up here. And now he was staring down the barrel of my reckless Hail Mary. If this even was a Hail Mary. He didn't think I'd sell him out, but he felt a hint of doubt. After all, he had dragged me into this mess.

Andre turned to Eric. "She's made an offer. Do you have a counter?"

"Yes."

I was afraid to look at Eric. But I couldn't put it off any longer.

Eric fixed me with a look of such hatred it took me aback. _The state_ , he thought at me. _Tell him I want the state._

I felt a surge of relief. Eric was still angry. But he'd placed himself in my hands.

"I'll take you to the talisman if you let me break her neck," Eric told Andre.

"It's a trap. He'll use it to take the state," I said. How that would work, I wasn't sure, but I hoped it was enough to stoke Andre's paranoia.

Andre's eyes flicked between Eric and me. He mistrusted us, but he couldn't see the play.

_I work with DeCastro._

"He works for DeCastro," I said.

Andre's eyes widened. "She must have heard the name in your head—" Eric began.

"Quiet." Andre took Pam's pistol out of his jacket. He didn't point it at Eric. He didn't have to. At such close range, he couldn't have missed. He nodded at Sigebert, and the big vamp forced Eric's arms behind his back.

For a horrible moment, I was afraid that I'd misplayed and Andre was actually going to shoot Eric, but then he turned to me. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Octavia," I said, grim.

Andre laughed. He was starting to understand why Eric had liked me so much.

* * *

Andre didn't give me a gun. I knew he wouldn't. I got Eric's switchblade instead.

Now that we were temporary allies, Andre treated me with a modicum of courtesy. He showed me how to hold the knife, and pointed to a place beneath Eric's ribs. "That's the spot."

It was the second time in as many days I'd been shown where to stab someone. "Thank you," I said, trying to sound grateful and not nauseated.

"You're welcome." Andre gestured towards Eric – all yours. He could have been giving me dancing lessons for all the courtesy he oozed.

Eric struggled. Sigebert tightened his grip.

I stepped towards them. I looked at Eric, willing him to trust me.

He was thinking of that scar on his torso.

An inch to the left, and I'd be dead.

So he'd figured out what I was planning. That, at least, was a comfort.

I put my hand on Eric's chest, as if I were trying to find the spot Andre pointed out. I pictured his scar in my mind's eye – a backwards C. I thought I could feel it through his shirt, not so far off from Andre's spot, but it was hard to tell. My pulse thudded in my ears.

"Do it," Eric said.

I stabbed him.

It took more force than I'd expected. I don't know how I found the strength—adrenaline, probably.

Breath rushed out of his body.

Sigebert let go of his arms. Eric dropped to his knees. He groaned. It was terrible. He gripped the knife. Blood seeped between his fingers.

I hoped to God I'd hit the scar. His wound looked too close to Andre's spot.

An inch to the left…

Eric slumped against the porch. His hand twitched. The blood kept coming. His thoughts tangled in pain, fear, anger.

"The talisman?" Andre asked.

Eric's eyes flickered shut. I forced myself out of his head.

"In my car." I tossed Andre the keys. "The glove compartment. It's a rib."

This was the weak spot—the moment where my plan could crumble.

I had a fifty-fifty shot. If Andre sent Sigebert to my car, I was golden. But if Andre decided to get the talisman himself, I'd be shit out of luck with my only ally bleeding out at my feet.

I figured Andre would send Sigebert. What use was an errand boy that didn't run errands? And Andre wasn't afraid of being alone with me—not like he was with Eric. He didn't see me as a threat.

Vampire arrogance died hard.

But if Andre left me with Sigebert, my only play was to break the talisman and hope the change incapacitated the bodyguard so I could stake him with Hadley's chopstick. Andre didn't have an invitation to my house so as long as I got Eric inside, we'd be fine.

Andre caught my keys.

I braced myself. Fifty-fifty.

Luck swung my way, and he passed the keys to Sigebert. "Bring it here."

I fought back relief as the big vamp set off across the lawn for the talisman, my brother's shotgun on his back. My car was parked about thirty yards away. Shotguns are more accurate that people give them credit for, but I felt better about our chances the further Sigebert got. Once he was inside the car, I'd have my window.

I had managed to separate Andre from his bodyguard and the shotgun. I was too panicked to be proud. But if Eric were still standing, Andre would have never let it happen.

Andre still had Pam's gun. He saw me as a smaller threat, so I supposed I rated a smaller weapon. He approached Eric, eyeing him with professional interest.

After a moment, he said, "You missed the spot."

He knew.

In the distance, my lights flashed. Sigebert had unlocked the car.

I threw myself at Andre. He still had a gun, so he hadn't been expecting something so stupid. I knocked him to the ground.

He pointed Pam's pistol at me, and fired.

It clicked.

Out of bullets.

"Sorry, asshole," I said, and kneed him where it counted.

He groaned and dropped Pam's gun. I lunged for it. He reached for his jacket. I saw a knife in his thoughts—as his fingers closed around it, I slammed the pistol on his temple.

He slumped.

Eric was halfway to his feet. He looked ashen, but very much alive. "This was the best diversion you could think of, lover?"

Probably not—but I'd had zero time to plan and Andre would never have separated himself from Sigebert so long as he believed Eric to be a threat. "You can complain later." I slung his arm over my shoulder and hustled him towards the house.

A crack rattled my bones. Shotgun pellets pinged off the porch swing, inches from where I'd stood.

Sigebert.

I grabbed the Popeye's bag, shoved Eric through the front door and bolted it behind us.

Eric slumped against the wall. Sunk to the floor. His face was gray. His hand was red. I didn't know much about stab wounds, but his looked worse than serious.

I dropped to my knees, pawing through the Popeye's bag until I came up with the talisman. My palms were sweaty. Octavia had said a break would do it.

"Wait," said Eric.

Pounding on the front door. Wait was the worst thing we could do. "I have to." I tried to keep panic out of my voice. "You'll bleed out."

"I've survived this once." He was thinking about Bill. I didn't have time to ask why, because that was when my front door exploded.

We were both on the floor, thank god, otherwise the combination of splinters and shotgun pellets might have ended us.

If Sigebert had been smart, he would have fired at my lock. So it was a small blessing he'd discharged Jason's shotgun into the door itself, creating a hole the size of my fist.

I say small blessing, because Sigebert shoved his hand through that hole with a splintering crunch. He seemed well on his way to forcing his whole arm through, at which point, he'd be able to unlock my dead bolt.

Where Eric found the strength, I'll never know. He grabbed me, and threw us both into the kitchen, slamming the door shut. I managed to keep hold of the talisman.

Eric threw open my drawers. "Your knives?"

"Right corner."

Eric yanked my cutlery drawer off its tracks. My whetstone fell onto the floor, along with half my forks.

He grabbed that big carving knife Pam had been so fond of, dropping the rest of the drawer.

The kitchen door swung open. I stuffed the talisman in my pocket and grabbed the first thing my hand encountered—Gran's cast iron skillet, on my front burner as always. I swung as hard as I could.

Sigebert dropped like a stone.

Softball, baby.

The shotgun discharged as it hit the ground, blasting a hole in the ceiling.

We ducked.

Plaster drifted down on us.

Eric sneezed.

It was over.

I set the skillet on the kitchen table. My hands were shaking.

My plan had been to run. Eric didn't look well enough. He slumped against the stove. I could see color drain from his face. He dropped the carving knife and collapsed into one of my kitchen chairs.

"Eric." He felt cold to the touch. He felt like his old self. I dug the talisman out of my pocket.

He took it out of my hand. "Find stakes first." He grit his teeth. Speaking was painful. "If I come back, so do they."

Practical as always.

I didn't want to leave him, but he had a point. I stepped over Sigebert and into the entry hall. The floor was covered in splinters—the remnants of my busted front door.

We had enough wood to stake every vampire in Louisiana. And we might have to.

I started to laugh. I was too exhausted to do anything else.

I picked up a handful of stakes. I stepped back over Sigebert. "Our luck's turned," I told Eric, as I dropped the stakes on the kitchen table.

He pointed out the window. Headlights on my lawn.

A dented sedan.

Bill.

Shit.

"He loves you," Eric said. "He'll help."

There was a lot to unpack there, but I didn't have the energy to do it.

I just felt trapped.

"I'll talk to him," Eric said. "Go. Pack what we need. This." He pushed the carving knife to me. "Stakes. First aid. We might be another few days."

"What's the plan?" I said.

"We'll figure that out." He got to his feet, with effort. He read my concern. "I'll be fine."

He did not seem fine. I reached for the talisman, but he beat me to it. Put it in his pocket.

"I'd break it if I thought it were the right move," he said. "Timing is one of the few advantages we have."

"Eric—"

"Trust me to look after myself."

I did—god, did I ever—but something felt off.

"Do you want to talk to Bill or not?" he said.

I should have known then.

But I didn't.

So I took the carving knife, and left.

* * *

I was throwing clothes in a bag when my bedroom door creaked open.

Eric was still breathing. He was still bleeding. He'd wrapped a kitchen towel around the knife handle, but his face was grey. He needed the talisman or a doctor. He did not need to be talking with me.

He sat on my bed. "Bill took care of Andre and Sigebert."

I hit me then—why he'd wanted to wait. I felt like a fool.

"He's with the Queen now."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" I asked.

"I hoped he wouldn't have to," he said. "Then, you had the curse in your hand. You could have broken it if I sold it wrong." He'd promised honesty. This hadn't been a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. He knew I was upset. "And I didn't think you'd trust him. You told him no."

I didn't trust Bill. But glamour was the solution – the only solution – that let Eric and I keep our lives. "Give me some credit."

He nodded, as if to say all right.

"What will they believe?"

"You were never a part of it. This week. This mess. We looked for you, but you weren't here."

"We?"

Silence from Eric. Then, "Me too. And Pam."

And there it was—the real reason he hadn't told me.

"No loose ends." He couldn't look at me. "I'll know I hid here. I'll pay for the damage."

"The damage?" It was the last thing I cared about.

"If there came a time, when I had to choose—" He broke off. "It's easier if I choose you now."

I felt something hot on my cheeks, and I realized I was crying.

"It doesn't change how I feel," he said.

But I knew it would.

He kissed me. I was too stunned to savor it. He was halfway to the door when I realized this was it. "Eric, wait."

He didn't think he'd leave if he looked back.


	32. The Sunny Side

Eric rose the next night.

They all rose. Pam, the Queen, Andre and, of course, Bill.

Pam called after dark, thanking for me the use of my home and telling me that Eric would stop by the following evening to assess the damage. I barely managed politeness with her, and wondered how I'd keep my cool around him.

I'd been on vacation. In Nashville. Nevermind that I had no one to travel with, and no money to spend. Nevermind that Eric had a way of seeing through me. Nevermind that he'd gotten what he'd always wanted from me.

Nevermind that I still wanted him.

I found his knife on my kitchen table. The blade was spotless. You'd never know that it had almost killed him.

There was no note. But I knew he wanted me to have it.

I put in my purse.

No use stalling.

I had the late shift at Merlotte's. I was grateful for the distraction. Arlene peppered me with questions about Nashville, and got fed up with my vague answers.

Sam caught me out back by the dumpster. I thanked him again for Jason, but he waved it off. "You look like someone died."

"My house got burgled."

I wanted to tell him everything, but I couldn't.

I slept at Jason's because my front door was still broken. Sam offered to keep watch, but I told him to get some sleep. He'd done enough, and if a robber wanted my old TV, it would be far from the worst thing that happened this week.

I spent the day with Jason – he was already complaining about bed rest – and returned home before nightfall to find my door broken and TV in place. I made myself a frozen dinner and waited for Eric. I didn't have much of an appetite, but it felt safe to stick to a routine.

Eric's words echoed in my head. _It's easier._

Easier for who?

I didn't know if he'd loved me, but it had been something close. I hadn't wanted to feel anything for him. He'd coaxed it out of me. And then left me alone with those feelings. He'd been brave, and even selfless. He'd been better than I thought he could be and, at times, worse.

He'd left to protect me. And to protect himself. After all, my concern for Octavia had nearly gotten him killed.

And he knew better.

He hadn't made it to a thousand by accident.

He hadn't made it to a thousand by opening himself to people like me.

My doorbell rang just after sundown. My heart started pounding. I didn't want to see him. And I did.

I opened the door.

Bill stood on my porch.

I wanted to slam the door in his face. Instead, I stepped outside, and shut it behind me.

"Sookie."

Bill knew I knew his name, so I saw no reason to say it. I stared at him, waiting for him to cough up whatever bug he'd swallowed and leave me in peace.

"Hadley has a son," he said, catching me by surprise. "She asked me to glamour him away."

Jesus.

"Did you?"

"It's hard to be a vampire." The look in Bill's eyes told me he wasn't talking about Hadley.

I didn't want to go there.

Bill handed me a paper. On it, he'd written in perfect, old time cursive, Hunter Savoy, Red Ditch, Louisiana.

"I thought you'd want to know."

I couldn't say thank you to him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I appreciated the gesture.

"A reunion," said a voice. Bill and I turned.

Eric.

"Touching." Eric's hair was mussed. It looked like he'd flown.

"I was just leaving," Bill said.

"Good," Eric told him, but he was staring at me.

Bill left. I opened the front door.

"Sookie." Eric was already on my porch. Vampire speed. "Invite me in."

An invitation. I'd forgotten. I'd rescinded Eric's invite after Jackson and in the time between—the time that now felt like a lifetime—the rules hadn't applied.

"Come in." My throat felt dry. He stepped inside.

"I like what you've done with the place," he said. It was a joke. A poor one. My entry hall was in shambles. Shotgun pellets pockmarked Gran's paneling. My door looked like it had been punched by Popeye.

I wondered what Eric thought about the fight—how Bill's glamour explained it away.

It wasn't any of my business.

"Remind me to never let you housesit." My voice sounded even. Normal. Good.

* * *

I microwaved a True Blood. We watched it rotate in silence. It felt strange not to have his thoughts pressing at me. They were a pain in the ass, but by comparison the room felt empty. Almost as if I were alone.

He broke the silence. "I want to thank you for the use of your home."

He pushed a check across the table. I turned it over, but not before I caught sight of more zeros than I'd been expecting.

"Thank you," seemed like the civil thing to say.

"You're welcome." His blood dinged. I handed it to him.

He drank. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Light caught the stubble on his face. We'd broken the spell so quickly, grooming had been the last thing on his mind. Eric had spent 1000 years clean-shaven. For all I knew, he'd spend the next 1000 with that light beard.

His beard scratched my face in the trailer. I wanted to reach over, touch him. My hands rested on my lap. I clasped them together. "If that's all—"

"Clancy told me an interesting story," he said, and my heart sank to my stomach. Clancy. Oh god. Clancy was our loose end. He'd come to my house the first night and never returned.

"I've been in Nashville," I said.

Eric smiled. "I haven't told my story yet."

Shoot.

"Clancy said he found me at your house."

"So?" I tried to sound nonchalant, not terrified.

"You were here. You told him where to hide a body."

"I think I'd remember that," I said.

"I think I would too."

He stared at me. I had nothing more to say. Well, not exactly. I had a lot to say, and none that I could. "Is that all?"

"Yes." Eric took a step closer to me. "I suppose it is." He dropped a kiss on the top of my head. I had to keep myself from shivering. His nearness was difficult.

I shut my eyes.

When I opened them, Eric was watching me. I couldn't read the look on his face. And, of course, I couldn't read his mind.

"Tomorrow, you'll have a new door," he said.

And I did.

It was solid oak, with brass hinges and a dead bolt.

The contractor brought swatches so I could pick the paint color.


End file.
